


An Awful Fix

by RoseWaterWitch



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, Haunted Mansion AU, except the ghosts are fairies/goblins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 71,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWaterWitch/pseuds/RoseWaterWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was meant to be an average summer spent rehabilitating an abandoned mansion takes a dangerous turn when Marianne discovers that the house stands on a fairy mound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So It Goes

Bogach Mansion came as a surprise to Marianne on a number of levels.

For one, her father usually gave some hint before making extravagant real estate gambles.  A rundown mansion in northern Scotland so far off the beaten track it probably couldn’t pick said track out of a line-up certainly qualified as a gamble.

"Got it for a steal, my dear," her father had said after shocking her with the news.  "Hasn’t been so much as a nibble of interest in the place for at least a decade."

No surprise there.  The nearest tourist attractions were a tiny village and a peat bog.  And yes, on a hunch she’d google’d the meaning of bogach.  Her father, for reasons beyond Marianne’s comprehension, had bought Bog Mansion.

"But Marianne," she’d muttered to herself while packing every sweater she owned.  Summer or not, she wouldn’t risk Scotland’s stormy wrath.  "Peat bogs are always turning up in the news these days.  It’s a grand location.  Think of the history!"  She slammed the lid on her suitcase.  "It’s just oozing character."

When Marianne thought ‘bog’, she thought of an eternal stench or the death of Artax.  She’d half expected to see a partially submerged house when her father showed her pictures of the mansion.  It hadn’t appeared to be sinking but trick photography was a magical thing.  Granted, it was entirely possible she was going into this expecting the worst.  And hadn’t Artax died in a swamp, anyway?  What was the difference between a swamp and a bog?

Well, she’d find out soon enough.

The sweaters turned out to be a good idea as the mansion’s slice of Scotland was experiencing a bit of a cold snap.  A cold snap.  In summer.  How was that even a thing?

Marianne questioned every decision she’d ever made in the car her father had hired to take her safely to the village’s rustic inn, Peat’s Bed and Breakfast.  The locals sure liked being reminded of the surrounding terrain.  Why had she left California again?

Pfft, easy answer.  Two weeks ago she’d been in love and now she wasn’t.

Marianne hadn’t fallen out of love so much as been violently shoved out into oncoming traffic by a blonde, cheating asshole named Roland.  Surrounded by reminders of her bad judgment, the first thought she’d had after being stunned into silence by her father’s impulse buy had been one word.  _Escape_.  The mansion could have been a hovel in Siberia and Marianne still would have begged to be sent to see what could be done with the place.  In the end all she’d had to do was let her father see a little of the desperation in her eyes.

"Do what you need to do, Marianne.  Take the summer.  There’s no rush."  He’d pulled her into a hug.  It stung even now to remember how shocked and nervy she’d felt at the affection.  She wanted the comfort yet she couldn’t shake the memory of being lied to, folded in arms that did not cherish her.

At least she could take a little pleasure in blaming Roland for every minor inconvenience that befell her on this venture.  The weather was Roland’s fault.  The ludicrously-placed mansion was Roland’s fault.  That faint whiff of rotten eggs was _definitely_ Roland’s fault.

"Sorry, love," said Pare the innkeeper when she asked about the elevator.  "No lift."

"What an unexpected twist," Marianne said under her breath.  She smiled at Pare anyway.  After all, it wasn’t his fault she had to carry her luggage up three flights of stairs.  It was Roland’s.

More than anything, Marianne blamed Roland for the identity crisis that had been unceremoniously thrust into her lap.  She couldn’t say she’d ever been a bastion of self-confidence but she’d never second-guessed herself at every juncture.  In the airport she’d checked her pocket at least five times to make sure her ID was still there, convinced each time she’d forgotten it.  Hell, she’d worried she’d gotten on the wrong plane despite all evidence to the contrary.  She found herself leaning towards aggressive snark during even the most benign conversations as if wanting to intercept an incoming blow.  Even Dawn had started tiptoeing around her, which only convinced Marianne she needed to get the hell out of her life.  The last thing she wanted was to make her little sister feel as hurt as Marianne did.

Panting after her climb, Marianne finally put her key in the door of her home away from home for the next few months.  She liked that it was a real key.  Added an old-fashioned touch.  She pushed the door open and looked briefly around the small accommodations.  A slanted ceiling, a comfortable-looking single bed and a little oak chest of drawers under the window were all that greeted her eye.  Later she would discover a very small television tucked away in the bathroom but given where she found it Marianne didn’t feel tempted to plug it in.  At the moment she decided to concentrate on the positives.  She wouldn’t be able to hole herself up in this room without expiring from boredom as she really doubted the viability of the wifi in the area.

She rolled her suitcase through the door, lifted it up and then set it on her bed.  At the disturbance, the bed let out a tiny ‘meow’.  Marianne paused and debated the likelihood that beds in Scotland were really that different from beds in America.  This debate led to the conclusion that she was really jet lagged if she needed to even _have_ a debate in the first place.  She kneeled on the floor to peek under the bed.

A white cat with black eyes blinked at her.  Then it yawned.

"I hope you’re not here for mice.  Or if you are here for mice, I hope you’ve already caught them," she told it.  The cat licked its pink nose before slinking out from under the bed and straight into Marianne’s lap.  She stared at it, hands up as though it was aiming a gun at her.  "Er, I’m not a cat person.  Or a cuddler, so, not the human you’re looking for."

The cat started purring for no apparent reason.  This didn’t exactly reassure Marianne.  For all she knew the cat was delusional and would turn on her at any minute.  “How about I take you to Pare and he can find you somewhere more comfortable?”  She tentatively lifted up the cat.  When it didn’t lash out at her, Marianne hurried quickly out the door but only after triple-checking that her key was in her pocket. 

Pare gave her an amiable smile when she turned up at the front desk.  “Hello again, Miss Marianne.  Nice to see you making friends.”  He waved to the cat.  It returned the gesture by batting a paw in his direction.  “Little fellow’s a fixture around these parts.”

"Uh, how… charming?"  The cat nudged his head against her hand expectantly.  Marianne gently set him on the desk instead.  "I found him under my bed."

Pare chuckled.  “Oh, I expect you’ll find him all sorts of places.  He’s a free spirit.”

"Ah."  How to tactfully ask that he not be a free spirit in her room?

"You’re not allergic, are you?" he asked, deep voice rumbling with concern.

"No, no!  Just not used to pets.  I wouldn’t want to step on him in the dark or something."  Or wake up with him on her face.  She cleared her throat.  "Have you had him long?"

"No one owns this little imp," Pare said.  Then he chuckled again but the sound held more caution than mirth.  "Not around these parts."

"O… kay?"  Marianne decided she’d be better off if she just accepted this as a local eccentricity and moved on.  "Thank you for your time."

Pare nodded.  “No trouble, Miss Marianne.  Before I forget, though, my wife wanted me to tell you that the light’s just right this time of day for a trip up to Bogach if you fancied stretching your legs.”

Marianne took a moment to process that.  “Your wife?”

"Lizzie."

The cat gave a disgruntled hiss and jumped off the desk.  When Marianne looked to Pare, he shrugged.  “The two of them don’t get on.”

"Fair enough.  But how did your wife know I’d be interested in Bogach Mansion?"

Amusement glinted in Pare’s dark eyes.  “You might have noticed it’s not a very big village.  So when an American named Fairfield bought old Bogach and then another American by the same name made a reservation here, it wasn’t a difficult leap.”

Marianne felt her cheeks heating up.  “Yeah, that would make sense.  Sorry.”

He looked at her curiously.  “What on earth for?”  In an instant the tall, round innkeeper had gone from generically amiable to perceptive.  Marianne felt certain he could see all the ways she was failing to connect the dots and come to the right conclusions.

"Nothing," she said quickly.  "I think I will take that walk.  Thanks!"

Marianne was out the door before Pare could say another word and before she could think to go get the keys to the mansion.  By the time she was out of the village, headed toward the hulking shadow in the distance, it was too late to go back without looking a touch unhinged.  Not that she wasn’t unhinged.  Damn, it was so frustrating to be flailing about with no sense of direction.  She blamed love, entirely.  What was the point of falling if you were never going to get back up again, even after it was over?

As she walked, the difference between a swamp and a bog gradually made itself known to her.  The stretch of purple heather as far as she could see was the most obvious one.  She certainly didn’t remember any pretty flowers when Artax had drowned.  The warm glow of the evening sun kept the chill from biting too deep as she looked around the stark, open land.  That boggy scent didn’t even seem quite as awful.  All the colors here appeared so much richer than back home.  Walking alone past an ancient bog blanketed with heather toward a mysterious house made her feel as though she’d been transported.  Her reality faded as Bogach Mansion’s gates drew closer.

The bars on the gate had been designed to look like thorny vines and so she had to be careful when she leaned against them to look her fill.  Gnarled and vicious, the mansion stood defiant against the gray-blue sky.  It looked nothing like it had in the pictures.  Towers stabbed out as though to pierce clouds and angry gargoyles were perched on the roof.  It felt as though a few were staring right at her with violent intent.  She smiled.

Never had she thought a building could be angry but she felt it here.  Something in the way the stone had been slotted together spoke in a snarl while pride held it tall.  She wished she’d been a little less proud back in the village.  Then she would have the key to this place.  Not expecting any give, she pushed a little at the gate.  It immediately swung open.

Marianne gaped at it.  Well, that wasn’t safe.  God only knew who had ransacked the place after finding the gate unlocked.  It wouldn’t be difficult to break a window and slip through to steal any treasures that had remained after countless owners.  The thought infuriated her.  She found herself hurrying up the overgrown path to the mansion before she could think better of it.

When she checked the massive front doors with their fanged knockers, Marianne found them unlocked.  This was unacceptable.  She would be sending word to her father as soon as she could that whoever had been looking after this place before them had done a piss poor job of it.  And how dare they?  The value in places like Bogach Mansion didn’t just lie in profit margins but in memory.  It was a snapshot of the past.  Never again would there be a place like this and to think it may have been harmed through carelessness…

Marianne flew in to the mansion on a cloud of righteous fury.  Light followed her in through the open door but the windows were too cloudy to let in any themselves.  Two arches stairs curled around the back of the entrance hall and beneath them she could see a corridor leading further into darkness.  The air smelled heavily of neglect.  When she looked down at the floor, she could see where her feet had disturbed the layer of dust covering what might turn out to be marble.  However her footsteps were the only ones she could see.  A little of her anger leaked away.  Maybe no harm had been done.

Not quite satisfied yet, Marianne kept moving forward while getting out her iPhone and flipping on her flashlight app.  She studied the floors intently as she moved past the stairs into the corridor.  The musty smell increased as she moved away from the source of fresh air.  Still no sign of intruders but Marianne was getting that creepy ‘being watched’ sensation.  She lifted her phone and suddenly found herself staring into a portrait’s flat eyes.  “Oh, thank God,” she sighed. 

In fact, the portrait was probably a good sign in many ways.  If there were still art on the walls there likely hadn’t been any thefts.  Maybe no one knew the place had been unlocked.  Or maybe the village kept up a regular watch of the place and any potential thief hadn’t felt up to the challenge.  Whatever the reason, Marianne was glad. 

She turned around and the light on her phone illuminated a landscape painting of the approach to Bogach Mansion before the house had been built.  Marianne peered at the faded colors and hoped some gentle cleaning might be all the painting needed to become vivid again.  If it had been kept in this dark place for long enough, perhaps not much damage had been done.

A large, wild tree grew on the hill where the mansion now stood.  Through the dust she could just see a figure standing beneath it holding a staff.  Was that a touch of amber in the center?

Wind howled through the open doors and tangled its icy fingers in her short, choppy hair.  Marianne looked outside and saw the light beginning to fade.  She grimaced.  Going back didn’t appeal to her.  There was so much here to see and, although the place was not welcoming in the least, Marianne felt comfortable inside these walls.  Still, she’d rented a room and it would be foolish not to use it.  Plus if there were beds left here they were likely infested with bugs, never mind the dust.  She would get a good night’s sleep and then run back here in the morning for a full day of exploration.

The thought put her a smile in her face and she nearly skipped on her way back to the gate.  Oh, the gate.  She paused. 

Leaving it unlocked for another night probably wouldn’t do any harm.  On the other hand, she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she didn’t do something to secure it.  She felt a little silly but that didn’t stop her from unfastening her belt and looping it around the gate.

"See you in the morning," she whispered.  The impulse had been irresistible.  An adventure was waiting in that mansion and it belonged only to her.  She felt the swelling of a familiar emotion in her chest but ignored it.  Promising to never fall in love again didn’t count when it came to architecture.

She jogged happily down the road to the inn and to a surprisingly deep sleep after a day of traveling. 

And in the darkest part of the night, a single claw slid over the belt she’d left behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the talented Lady Bajingo.


	2. To Catch a Fever

At the first ray of sunlight Marianne leaped out of bed.  She then promptly groaned and rolled her shoulders in the hopes of easing her post-travel aches.  That damn laptop bag always did a number on her muscles.  A few stretches put her in a better frame of mind but the impulse to run straight back to the mansion had been checked in favor of actual preparation. 

She grabbed a black and white checkered sweater and slipped on her brown leather boots.  After running a brush through her hair, Marianne gave up on doing any better than windstorm chic.  It wasn't as if Dawn was there to lament her lack of style.

As she packed her saddlebag purse, which matched her boots by sheer chance, a plan for the day formulated in her mind.  Marianne would figure out the layout of the mansion and get a feel for what was there.  Some idea of how much cleaning product she would need to purchase would be good.  Even better would be a more specific unit of measurement than 'a lot'.

When she opened her door the local cat sprang up, headbutting her abdomen and clinging to her sweater with his claws.  She quickly wrapped her arms around him and hoisted the cat into a more comfortable position.  Instantly he began purring.  Marianne shook her head.

"This has got to stop," she told him, shifting his bulk as she struggled to lock her door. 

The purring continued.

"Why don't you hang out with Pare?  He seems to like you."  Marianne slipped her key into her hip pocket and continued down the stairs.  The cat wriggled against her, trying to get her fingers deeper in his fur.  "No, I will not pet you.  I'm not going to encourage this."

The cat meowed and slanted her a look that was really too intelligent for a cat.  It seemed to say ' _what, you're above petting pretty kitties?_ '. 

"I'm not going to get attached to a cat I'm going to end up leaving in a few months."  That hadn't stopped her from getting attached to the mansion but architecture couldn't embarrass her with overt affection like the cat seemed prone to doing.  "And you shouldn't get attached, either!"  She said this last bit as she reached the bottom of the stairs, well within hearing range of Pare at his desk. 

The smile he gave her was warm and about as nonjudgmental as they came.  She still felt naked when he said, "The wee fella's good company, aye?"

For the second time in twenty-four hours she dumped the cat on Pare's desk.  She doubted it would be any more effective this time.  "He's persistent, I'll give him that much."  Marianne considered putting on one of her pretend smiles but Dawn said those scared people.  "Pare, is there a place around here I could grab a packed lunch?  I want to put in a full day up at the mansion."

"Oh, I'll whip something up for you with your breakfast," he said, stepping around the desk.

"As long as it's no trouble - "

"No trouble at all, Miss Marianne.  We're not often busy at this hour of the morning."  Pare led her around the stairs to the little pub cobbled on to the inn.  

About thirty minutes later Marianne stumbled out into the village with a roast beef sandwich the size of her head and a newfound awe for the people who could eat a breakfast that huge every day.  She might not even be hungry until it was time for breakfast again.  Scotland did not mess around when it came to the most important meal of the day.

The soft fog of morning lingered in the air as she made the walk up to the mansion.  Some part of her had wondered if scenery that included a bog could really be as picturesque as she remembered it or if she'd just been running on plane fumes.  Even with the pale early light Marianne could see she hadn't been wrong.  A mellow breeze tickled a chill across her face, carrying the scent of heather.  The stark beauty of the empty space around her stretched on and on into the horizon interrupted only by the hunched, thorny figure of the mansion.  That low-level anxiety that seemed to come with just being herself these days melted away the closer she got to Bogach.  By the time she reached the gates, she was smiling.

That smile dimmed slightly when she unbuckled her belt and noticed a light scratch on the braided leather.  Some critter must have gotten curious during the night.  With a shrug, Marianne pushed through the gate and threaded the belt back through the loops on her jeans.

After propping the front doors open to let in the air, she knelt to study the floor of the entrance hall.  Where she'd disturbed the dust last night she could see black marble with rich gold veins streaking across its surface.  Whoever had designed the house clearly hadn't been concerned about contrasting dark with light given how close to black the wood on the stairs appeared.  Marianne approached one of the walls to study the paper, finding it to be a green so dark that she nearly had to press her nose to it to catch the color.  The only relief came from the crystal chandelier, although that was more spiderweb than crystal.

It suited Marianne well enough but she could see how anyone her father brought in to repurpose the place for guests would want to change the walls and put a carpet on the stairs that was a friendlier color than rusting blood.

"You're a moody old thing, aren't you?" she murmured, laying a hand on the spiked bannister.  The vines and thorns theme from the gate had been carried inside the house, curling up the stairs in one of the more sinister concessions to safety Marianne had ever seen.  "Everyone's going to want to brighten you up, inject some cheer.  Believe me, I know."

Weirdly, it felt less unnatural to talk to a house than a cat.  The silence in the house felt almost hungry and Marianne didn't mind speaking into it.  Grim design aside, this was a place made for noise.  Her voice bounced around its space and vibrated in the air.  "Let's get to know each other, huh?"

Before setting off back down that corridor under the stairs, Marianne settled her earphones around her neck so that her iPod could only whisper to her ears as she explored.  She automatically went to her Amy Winehouse collection.  It had gotten a lot of play since Roland along with Lana Del Rey.  She was almost to the classic rock stage of musical recovery but she didn't feel ready to be pumped up yet.  _Rehab_ was about as upbeat as she was willing to go.  Speaking of which...

"They tried to make me go to rehab," Marianne sang along quietly while lighting up the corridor with her phone again.  The portrait stared at her as she passed and she felt vaguely amused at the idea of the subject wondering what the hell 'rehab' was.

A tall set of doors awaited her at the end of the corridor, surrounded by decorative antique swords and armor.  That struck Marianne as odd.  Surely one of the previous owners would have taken those with them when they left.  She understood leaving some art behind but why not take the swords?  Still, their loss could be her gain.  She needed to get back in shape if she wanted to make her college's fencing team.  Giving up fencing was yet another thing to regret about her relationship with Roland.  How had that not been a red flag anyway?  Who didn't think fencing was sexy?  Bastard.

"I ain't got the time," she sang in an effort to drown out that particular memory.  Marianne focused on the doors and the tree carved into the wood, its branches stretching up to the ceiling.  She pressed on the knot at the center of the trunk.  The door gave slightly but it had clearly been a while since it had last been opened.  Marianne put her weight against the doors and pushed, wincing a little at the shriek of rusted hinges.

Finally the doors swung apart, leaving Marianne to stumble awkwardly into a large open space.  The light from her phone got lost in that sheer abyss of a room.  She squinted into the dark then looked around the door and nearly jumped out of her own skin when her reflection looked back.  "Okay, mirrors, wasn't expecting that," she said. 

In the hopes of finding some windows, Marianne crossed the room.  Her footsteps sounded inordinately loud as well as the music humming from around her neck.  Once she'd reached the opposite wall she found only more dusty mirrors.  In fact, after more exploring and some desperate peering up at the curved ceiling, Marianne concluded that the entire room was lined with mirrors with the occasional interruption of jetblack marble.  She checked the floor and found the same marble there but no gold veins.  Three enormous chandeliers hung in that cavernous space but there was something off about them, almost jagged.  Being so completely surrounded by mirrors and darkness created a sort of claustrophobic effect, as though she was walking in a bubble in space.  She guessed they must have held balls in this room but who would have felt comfortable dancing here?

One thing was for sure.  Cleaning all those mirrors was going to take _ages_. 

The rest of the house didn't exactly pose less of a challenge but she didn't feel quite so tiny and ineffectual when facing it.  There were four floors and an attic waiting for her attention.  The truly strange thing was how much had been left behind by previous owners.  Actually, if Marianne were pressed she'd have to admit it looked like not a single thing had been changed since the original owners had passed.  There was plumbing but no electricity.  Dealing with the gas lights was going to be interesting.  In the fifty bedrooms Marianne had discovered, in not one did it appear as though furniture were missing.  Hell, in a few closets she'd found clothes!  When had been the last time people had lived in this house?

Throughout the halls Marianne had seen the repeating theme of thorns, vines and trees.  A few dark flowers appeared in the mix as well as tiny, inhuman faces.  The wallpaper on the upper floors depicted a deep, bleak forest and it hurt something in Marianne's heart to think of it being inevitably stripped out for something brighter.

Late in the afternoon she had been snooping in the attic, nibbling on Pare's sandwich when she stumbled on a defaced painting.  It reminded her a bit of when Belle had found the slashed portrait of the Beast's boring form.  The rips in the canvas looked very much like claws.  Marianne lifted up a few of the strips and saw what appeared to be an ordinary if plain girl with sparkling green eyes.  "Not exactly a mad woman in the attic," she quipped.  But that brought to mind the other strange thing she'd observed.  Aside from the destroyed portrait, Marianne had seen very little actual damage to the house or its furnishings.  Truckloads of dust and spiderwebs, yes.  The rust on the fixtures had initially worried her until she used her thumbnail to scrape through a little.  Beneath had been sparkling brass. 

She hadn't seen any sign of water damage.  Even in California she would have been surprised by that in a house this old.  In Scotland she was fucking stunned.

Towards the end of the day she returned to the ground floor and headed for the door to the right of the entrance that she'd left for last.  When she found a perfectly intact library, Marianne threw her hands in the air.  "Okay, what the _fuck_?  Who leaves behind their books?"  There was not a single gap on the shelves lining one half of the room.  On the other side of the library was a conservatory with long-dead tropical plants and a harpsichord.  A little light struggled through the conservatory's windows, letting her see the pile of books and papers on the ornate desk set in front of the enormous fireplace.  Above it a portrait of a wide-faced cheerful woman with red hair that appeared to have the texture of straw stared down with approval.  "Well, as long as it makes sense to you," she murmured. 

To be fair, it was one of the warmer rooms in the house.  The intricate parquet flooring was a gem and Marianne felt a little excited at the prospect of seeing it polished.  The red velvet loveseats were especially tempting to her sore feet, dust or not.  Instead she distracted herself by studying the titles on the shelves.  There were a lot of leather bindings of classics here and she couldn't quite convince herself to touch them to see if any were first editions.

A familiar tune came on as she read the titles and she hummed along without thinking.  It was only when she actually said the words, "he toss my salad like his name Romaine" that she realized she was nearly two minutes into _Anaconda_.  "Dawn!" she snapped, fumbling for her iPod.  It had automatically gone to her 'Don't even think about it, Dawn' playlist.  She hadn't actually known Dawn had put this song on her iPod.  It wasn't unusual for her sister to guess her password and sneak songs on there that would mortify Marianne, such as love songs or really embarrassing pop.  There had been many times that Marianne had attempted to beat Dawn to death with the nearest pillow for her trespassing. 

Of course, if she'd really minded then she probably wouldn't keep using passwords that were significant dates in Dawn's life.  Or have a specific playlist just for Dawn.

Once she flipped the music over to some safe Florence + the Machine, Marianne got out her iPhone and texted Dawn.  _You're over a thousand miles away, how are you still driving me crazy?_

A minute later her phone started to play _Dawn (Go Away)_.  Huh, good signal for an abandoned house.  Marianne answered and the sound of Dawn giggling filled up the library.

"Someone found the Nicki Minaj!"

"And someone's lucky we're not in the same hemisphere," Marianne growled. 

"Don't remind me," Dawn sighed.  "The house is so quiet.  Dad's boring and he won't let me have anyone over."

Marianne grinned and flopped down on one of the dusty loveseats.  She was pretty well coated with dust anyway from all her poking around, might as well own it.  "You mean boys."

"I mean Sunny!" Dawn protested.

"Unless Sunny's been through a whirlwind of self-discovery since I left, I'm pretty sure he's a boy, Dawn."  Marianne noticed the light dimming and looked over shoulder through the windows.  The sky had gone gray.  She frowned.  Damn, she hoped it wouldn't rain.

Dawn kept talking in her ear and Marianne tuned back in to hear her ask, "So what's the house like?  Epic disaster or quaint fixer-upper?"

Marianne laughed.  "More like epic fixer-upper.  It's got this kind of sinister, eat-the-unwary vibe."

"You're perfect for each other," Dawn cooed. 

"Hardy har, yes, I predict a spring wedding."  There was a muffled clattering sound behind her and Marianne turned to see the branches of a tree pressed against the glass by the wind.  That didn't bode well for the weather, surely.  Better get going.  She stood up, phone pressed to her ear by her shoulder as she packed away her iPod.  "Besides, I'm trying not to get too attached to the aesthetic given that Dad's going to have to change it completely to attract guests."

"Or just level it if he doesn't want to bother," Dawn said.  Marianne suddenly felt the urge to bite something.  Would her dad really level a place with this much history and -

Oh, who the hell was she kidding?  Her dad wasn't the most sentimental when it came to property.  People, sure.  Places?  Never.

"Well, I'll just have to convince him the house has value," Marianne said.  "Easy."

"Suuuuuure."  When Dawn sounded skeptical, Marianne knew it was bad.  Her sister had invented optimism.

"This place is magical, all right?  There's got to be a way to save it."  She searched in her bag for the keys to the front door as she left the library.  The wind blowing in through the entrance hall made her shiver. 

"Magical?"

"Like going back in time or... being transported?  I don't know how to say it right.  But I've never been anywhere like Bogach and there's always a market for new experiences so... Wait."  Marianne's head shot up. 

The front door was closed. 

"Marianne?"

"That's so bizarre," she said.  "I left the door open and there was a breeze a minute ago but now - "  Those doors were massive.  She would have heard them shut.  Hell, she'd heard the trees stirring outside.  No way she would miss the doors.  And had the wind really been strong enough for that?

"Maybe ghosts?" Dawn suggested. 

She snorted.  "Yeah, ghosts.  Totally."

But Dawn was excited now.  "Oh, you're so in a gothic romance!"

"No romance.  It's in my rules for a better life," Marianne reminded her, attention still mostly on the door.

"No, it's totally cool.  It works within your rules.  Romance is girl meets boy.  Gothic romance is girl meets house!"

Marianne rolled her eyes.  "Whatever you say."  She pushed open the door and it was as heavy as it had been that morning.  Weird.  "I'm going to hang up now, Dawn."

"Love you too, sis!"

She disconnected the call and stuck her phone in her pocket.  The mansion's keys felt heavy in her hand as she stepped outside.  A flash of lightning briefly lit the gray sky.  She waited for the roll of thunder but nothing followed but silence.  The day had definitely taken a turn for the weird. 

"If this is what happens when I listen to _Anaconda_ I'm really going to have to cut back," she mumbled.  It was only after she fumbled with the lock that she looked up at the house with alarm.  "Not that I do it a lot.  I didn't mean... to explain myself to a house."  She shook her head and slipped her keys back into her bag.

With the door locked Marianne felt comfortable not bothering with the gate.  She nudged it shut then thoughtlessly waved at the menacingly perched gargoyles.  "See you tomorrow."

Dawn's little speech about gothic romances must have gotten to Marianne because all the way back to the village it felt like the house was watching her.  But romantic wasn't the first word that leapt to mind.  No, if she had to pick a word, she'd definitely go with hungry.


	3. Of Melodies Pure and True

On Marianne's third day in Scotland the weather finally decided to behave like it understood the concept of summer.  After sending her father and Dawn a quick email about her plans for the day, her pessimism about the wifi signal having clearly been misplaced, she decided today was as good a day as any to get to know the village a little better.

"Good morning, Pare," she called out, hopping down the stairs in her running shoes.

Pare smiled at her from his post at the desk.  "Good morning, Miss Marianne."  She saw him take in her purple leggings and red tank top as she secured her iPod armband.  "Taking advantage of the sunlight?"

"Sure am."

"I'll be sure to put on a few extra eggs for you when you get back," he said.  

Marianne had to turn her face quickly, pretending to stretch so he wouldn't see her reaction.  God, if the breakfasts got any bigger here she'd explode.  "Er, you know what, Pare?  How about just a bowl of porridge?"

He shrugged.  "You're the customer.  Need something for your lunch again?"

"If it's not too much trouble."  She finished stretching out her legs and bounced up, all but vibrating.  It had been too long since her last good run.

"No trouble at all, Miss Marianne.  You go enjoy the sunlight.  It's supposed to rain later this evening," Pare warned her.

She sighed.  "Of course it is.  Thanks!"  

With that, she darted out of the inn and cued up her jogging music.  That playlist would probably be getting some action when it came to cleaning up the mansion, now that Marianne thought about it.  She carefully regulated her pace as she jogged.  It was always a struggle to keep herself from just running flat-out, despite it being an inefficient exercise strategy.  Her father always said she ran before she mastered crawling and terrified her mother by darting all over the house.  They'd had to pad most of the furniture.  Marianne still had a faint dent in her head under her bangs from where she'd smashed into the dining table.  But not even injury convinced her to slow down.

Marianne liked to think she was better at learning from mistakes these days.  She kept her eyes open as she ran, occasionally nodding to the people on the streets.  A group of children outside a bakery pointed at her as she passed by, wide eyes curious as they stared.  She supposed they didn't often get visitors around here.  A shame because the village was lovely with clean white buildings, shining lead windows and cobblestone roads.  Everywhere she looked she could see bright pink flowers growing around the houses and from pots in store windows.  

Once she made a lap around the village and explored the streets, Marianne made the discovery she'd been hoping for and came to a halt in front of a hardware store.  She'd tucked her credit card in her sports bra for exactly this reason.  This wouldn't be her last trip to this store by any stretch but for now she was happy picking up some essentials.  She left the store with a mop, broom, two buckets, window cleaner, squeegee and soap that the shop attendant her assured her would be perfect for marble.  Eventually she'd need to order in a generator and some heavy duty carpet cleaning tech but she was willing to start small.

When she returned to the inn for breakfast Pare helped her balance her purchases and suggested the most efficient way to carry them up to the mansion.  She finished her porridge, dashed upstairs to grab her bag and came down to the lobby to find Pare waiting with a packed lunch of scotch eggs.  Marianne thanked him and hurried out again.  It only occurred to her later that it was maybe a little strange that Pare hadn't suggested anyone who might want to make a little money helping her slog cleaning supplies up to the mansion.  Not that she wasn't managing on her own but still.  A few of those kids might have appreciated pocket money.  Then again, she was perfectly capable of asking them without Pare as an intermediary.  She'd have to remember that for next time.

Weirdly, by the time she made it to the mansion she was only feeling more invigorated instead of less.  Marianne propped open the front doors, this time putting two large rocks in front of them.  Then she brought one of the buckets into the dilapidated kitchen, a place she actually didn't have any problems with eventually gutting during the remodel.  She carefully read the instructions on the marble cleaner and filled the bucket with cold water.  Her arms burned as she slowly made her way back to the entrance hall, careful not to spill a drop in case she ended up slopping water all over the wallpaper.  

Once she'd left her shoes outside the door and gotten her mop sudsed up, Marianne chose Pat Benatar to help her get the floor clean enough for a banquet.  "Hit me with your best shot!" she sang into the mop handle, sliding across the wet floor.  The exposed gold veins in the marble glinted brightly in the sunlight.  A little of the gloom in the house began to lift as Marianne sang classic rock and mopped like a superstar.

She finished her first pass and skipped back to the kitchen to fill up the bucket with clean water for the next stage.  Marianne ignored the slowly enhancing ache climbing up her arms as she pushed the mop over the floor, using the way the marble shone up at her as incentive.  She imagined the chandelier lit up and throwing light across the floor.  The gold would shine out of the rich, black marble like firelight.  "We're running with the shadows of the night," she serenaded the inanimate floor.  "So baby take my hand, it'll be all right."

Three quick flashes of color darted past the corner of her eye.  She jumped, sliding back on the floor.  Marianne looked through the open door but no culprit revealed themselves.  She frowned but moved on, getting off the marble so it could dry.  

She dumped the bucket outside into the tangled weeds then took a seat on the mansion's stoop.  The afternoon sun warmed her face as she investigated the lunch Pare had given her.  These would be her first scotch eggs and she was hoping they wouldn't be quite as unique as haggis.  She bit into one and discovered it was basically breaded sausage around a hard boiled egg.  

So many calories.  So few reasons to care.

Halfway through her second egg, Marianne found herself missing Dawn.  Her sister would have loved this.  Getting her hands dirty never bothered Dawn and she would be so into discovering the history of Bogach, not to mention investigating the library.  Marianne stared down at the scotch egg in her hand and struggled with pushing back the uncalled for wave of loneliness.  She was fine alone and Dawn had plenty to do back home.  They didn't need to be joined at the hip.  It was healthy for them to spend this time apart.

Maybe she'd text Dawn a picture of her lunch.

She was reaching for her bag when those three flashes of color struck again, this time zooming right over her head out of the mansion.  "Whoa!" Marianne shouted, jerking her earphones off.  She searched the sky for a trace of whatever the hell had just zipped past her but again nothing stuck out.  Then she looked down.

Three brightly-colored birds sat at her feet, staring up expectantly.

"Oh my God!"  She dropped her egg and flailed backwards, pressing herself against one of the open doors.  The birds let out pleased chirps and descended on the egg.

As her pulse slowly returned to normal, Marianne studied the disconcertingly carnivorous birds.  One was green, the next was red and the last was purple.  They were about the size of sparrows and apparently had no fear of humans.  She didn't think Scotland had any native birds with plumage like theirs.  So wild tropical birds?  Or... oh, wait, she'd heard about this back home.  Some selfish people had bought exotic birds then when they were tired of taking care of them they released them into the wild, assuming they'd be able to look after themselves.

"Poor things," she murmured.  They looked up at her with intelligent eyes and chirped simultaneously.  She gave them a tentative smile.  "How about another egg?"

They fluttered their wings and chirped.  It was only after she'd broken up another egg and spread it out for them to eat that she thought fried food might be bad for them.  "Oh shit," she said.  "Great job, Marianne.  First they get abandoned and now you're poisoning them."

The birds continued to pick at their meal, unconcerned.  She wished she could trust that they knew what they could eat better than she did but animals ate food they shouldn't all the time.  Eventually the green bird, satisfied with her share of the food, flew up and perched on Marianne's knee.  It distracted her from the nightmare images of walking up to the mansion tomorrow to find her new bird friends dead on the lawn.  "Hey little lady," she said.

The green bird fluffed her feathers and whistled a few familiar notes.  She stared at Marianne expectantly before repeating herself and staring again.  Marianne grinned.  "You were listening to me sing, huh?"  

The purple and red birds repeated the notes and the green one continued to stare at Marianne.  "Okay, okay.  An encore performance it is."  She began singing  _Shadows of the Night_  and laughed when the birds whistled along with her.  She was turning into Snow White.  Now they just needed to help her clean the mansion.

These had definitely been pet birds.  But maybe not abandoned?  Someone from the village could have left a window open.  She should take a picture of them and ask Pare.  If she had a trio of singing birds, she'd want to find them if only for the youtube potential.

Well, also so they wouldn't be eaten.

She reached for her bag, listening to the birds whistle amongst themselves.  Then the iPhone screen glinted in the light and they surrounded it, attracted to the shine.  "You guys like Apple products?" Marianne joked.  The three of them quirked their heads to the side in unison at just the right moment and she managed to catch the adorable on camera.  "Now that's photogenic.  Look how cute you guys are!"  She turned the phone to show them the picture and they all began to bounce excitedly.  "Dawn's going to love you guys."  

She texted the picture to Dawn, hoping at the last minute that she wasn't waking her sister up at some ungodly hour of the morning with a text alert.  If she did, hopefully the cute would make up for it.  She added the message:  _My new friends are cooler than yours_.

Then in a shift that was completely typical of Scottish weather, the sky went dark and started to pour rain.  The birds let out distressed chirps before darting into the house.  Marianne swore, scooping up her bag and lunch.  She pulled the front doors closed to protect the clean floors before remembering she'd left her running shoes outside to be pounded by the rain.  "Ah, crap," she muttered.

Marianne stuck her head out in the downpour, grabbed her shoes and then ducked back inside.  Her hair was plastered to her face and her shoes weren't in much better shape.  She shivered, belongings clutched awkwardly to her chest.  The birds chirped to her from their huddle on the stairs.

"So much for evening rain, huh guys?" she joked.  "This is a teaching moment.  Umbrellas always."

Marianne skirted the edge of the still-damp floor and headed for the library.  Even the murky light filtered through the conservatory was better than standing in the dim entrance hall.  She just had to be careful not to drip on anything.  The birds came gliding in behind her as she nudged the library door shut with her hip.  Light shone briefly on the carved marble fireplace as though mocking her.

Marianne set her shoes in one of the planters with their dead inhabitants so they couldn't muck up the floors.  Then she used her mostly-dry tank top to towel off her hair, leaving her in her sports bra and leggings.  The birds perched on the loveseat closest to the empty fireplace and Marianne sat with them, ignoring the dust.  "I'm trusting you guys not to make a mess in here," she warned them.  This was probably ridiculous but they all gave her earnest looks in response so she felt better about it.

Listening to the heavy pelt of rain against the house reminded her of lazy mornings curled up in bed, which explained why she drifted off.  It didn't quite explain why she ended up coming awake on a gasp after dreaming of thorns binding her wrists and dragging her into the earth.  That she didn't have an easy answer for, just a pithy quip about fried food and no one to hear it.

She took a few deep breaths, relaxing against the cushions.  The sky had only gotten darker and when she checked her phone she realized it was minutes to sunset.  That was also when she noticed the birds were gone.  Had they gone out the fireplace?  She eyed it skeptically.  

Well, it was the only reasonable option.  The other possibility was that they'd somehow opened the door then closed it again.  Marianne shook it off.  Either they would turn up again or they wouldn't.  It wasn't like they belonged to her.

She went to grab her shoes out of the planter and had a third, more disturbing realization.  Her shoes were gone.  Okay, that didn't make sense.  She remembered bringing them in here.  

But maybe she wasn't remembering right?  Had she only meant to get them out of the rain and then... didn't?   _Why_  would she do that, though?

"I'm not completely incompetent," she reassured herself.  "Just retrace your steps.  Shoes don't run off without feet in them."

Marianne went to open the library door only to find the handle burning hot.  She hissed, cradling her stinging hand against her chest.  It was all right, she could fix this.  She'd use her tank top to protect her skin.  She turned to grab it from the loveseat only to find herself on the other side of the door, staring into the entrance hall.  

" _What_?" she whispered.  The shine of the inky black marble lured her closer and it felt like heat was leaking from the floor.  Each step was harder to take as her feet seemed to stick.  When the marble gave under her foot, she gasped and tried to run for the front door.  A thick gold vein lashed out from the floor and wrapped around her leg.  It dragged her back until she hit the ground.

"No, no, no!  Let me go!"  She clutched at the marble but it had gone slick and she could find no purchase as the vein pulled her farther into the mansion.  Marianne went sliding through the doors to the ballroom, into unyielding darkness and clawed hands.  She felt thorns on her skin as a deep, unearthly laugh vibrated in her bones.

When she opened her eyes back in the library, worried little birds chirping around her and sunlight pouring through the windows, she could not find the breath to scream.


	4. Feel the Heat

After her surreal nightmare, Marianne made a point of staying at the mansion until the sun came within inches of setting.  She may have spent that time outside in damp shoes cleaning the conservatory's windows but the point was that she didn't run.  The birds had stayed with her the whole time then chirped sadly when she began her walk back.  They watched her from atop the closed gate, whistling an unfamiliar tune when she waved goodbye.

She put the dream from her mind for the night, eating her dinner in silence and then curling up in bed with her phone tucked against her ear.  Dawn was happy to talk her into unconsciousness.  She thought the birds were adorable, too, and wished she could be there.

Marianne had yawned and said, "Wish you were here, too."

The next morning was nearly identical to the last except her purchases at the hardware store were aimed at wood-cleaning.  Only when she'd returned to the mansion and set herself down on the staircase to concentrate on dusting and polishing the bannister did she let herself begin to psychoanalyze the dream.  It didn't exactly take a genius to figure out.  She just hated admitting she was so screwed up.

Losing her shoes had clued her in to the underlying theme of her nightmare.  It was the same anxiety that led her to double-check the contents of her purse, convinced something would be missing.  Then the details she'd come to admire about the mansion had risen up to attack her.  Oh no, she wasn't still reeling from Roland's betrayal at all.  Well-adjusted and healthy, that was her.

It was so damn unfair.  The jackass wasn't even here and he managed to taint this weirdly lovely place.  She shouldn't be followed around by the memory of one stupid decision.  Marianne had learned her lesson.  If something looked too good to be true, it was.  But the mansion had not looked too good to be true.  No one in their right mind would see this hulking monster of a house as an ideal retreat from the world.

But she wasn't in her right mind.  So was she just making the same mistake all over again but this time with an inanimate object?

Marianne gently worked the polish into one of the many sharp points of carved wood, watching as the blackness took on a sumptuous, healthy glow.  There was a certain delight in having such a dangerous-looking safety device.  It took a good hour of work for her to feel the smile putting an ache in her cheeks.

Her emotions were already tangled up in Bogach.  This house was her rebound relationship and she would never, ever admit that out loud.  At least here there weren't any lies.  Stone and wood couldn't deceive her.  If she got hurt the only one to blame would be herself for being careless.  And she was the only one of them who could fight for a happy ending.  Maybe that should make her feel lonely but she couldn't work up the effort.

The birds came back when she settled outside with her lunch.  She crumbled up one scotch egg and spread it out for them.

"I forgot to show Pare your picture.  Sorry, ladies." 

They descended on the feast, unconcerned.  She shrugged.  "Guess you've gotten used to being on your own.  I get that."

The red bird looked up at her, head tilted.  Marianne almost believed she wanted her to elaborate.  "Not your problem, cutie.  Just eat your lunch."  She bit into an egg and hummed at the satisfying burst of spice.  Even if these things had given her a bizarre anxiety-riddled dream, they were worth it.

Marianne forgot to ask Pare about the birds _again_ when she got back for the night.  In fact, it took her another two days to finally show him the picture she'd taken. 

He stared at her phone with a puzzled expression before shaking his head.  "You're right about these birds not belonging, that's for sure.  No one in the village has ever owned the like.  Kind of you to think of it, Miss Marianne."

"Well, they're sweet birds and if their owner had been local..." she trailed off and sighed.  "I hate to think they were abandoned."

One of Pare's hands nearly swallowed up her shoulder in a reassuring pat.  "They've found a friend in you."

"But I won't be here forever."  Then she brightened up.  "Oh, what about the kids around here?  Do you know if any of their parents would be okay with adopting some birds?"

Pare winced.  "It's a charitable thought, Miss Marianne, but once they heard where the birds had been found no one would risk taking them."

She frowned at him.  "What do you mean?"

"Old Bogach has something of a reputation for being... troubled," Pare said.  He shifted awkwardly and avoided Marianne's eyes.  "Rumors older than anyone living.  Hard to shake, you understand?"

"Like ghosts?" she asked.  Clearly Dawn's comment was still rattling around in her head.

Pare gave her a reluctant smile.  "Close enough."

This was the first time Marianne had seen Pare so uncomfortable.  She wanted to press but it felt invasive.  He'd been nothing less than kind to her and she could respect his boundaries about this, even if it did seem ridiculous.  "Well, I'd better invest in some birdseed."

His shoulders came down from around his ears.  "A wise choice, Miss Marianne."

"That's me," she agreed.  "Wise choices all the way."

Pare's words stuck with her and she ended up thinking about them when she switched on her brand new flashlight to help her see the doors to the mansion's ballroom.  The carved tree looked bigger than she remembered.  She shook her head and began to dust the trunk.  She wasn't going to let a trick of the light convince her there were more branches or something equally absurd.  Besides, Pare would feel awful if she let some passing comment about ghosts freak her out.

It wasn't that she didn't believe in ghosts.  Okay, that was a lie, she absolutely didn't.  But she sort of respected the concept?  The idea of a life leaving a sort of impression or energy in its surroundings made sense to her.  History was a kind of ghost, always trailing after the living with eerie reminders of mistakes and faded glory.  She understood that Bogach had a bad reputation that had grown larger over the centuries while also becoming less distinct.  The fewer people who remembered the truth, the more a legend took on a life of its own.  So now the people in the village thought there was something wrong with the house instead of the people who had lived there long ago. 

Marianne ran her dust cloth over a particularly gnarled branch and admitted to herself that the general air of menace around the place made ghost stories a given.  It would be tough to run any kind of hotel out of the house without support from the village but not impossible.  There was definitely a market for ghosts.  She should find out more details, see if the tales were more tragically romantic or gruesome.  With the right spin, either were easy sells.

As she worked, her finger caught on a sharp point of the carving.  Marianne jerked her hand back too late to keep a drop of blood from trickling down the wood. 

"Damn," she muttered, turning her hand to keep the mess contained.  It was nothing worse than a papercut but a slender river of blood had already run down her finger to gather in her palm.  Her shirt was the cleanest material she had around her so she pressed her hand against her stomach.  Maybe she'd give the village kids more fuel for the rumors about Bogach, traipsing in at sunset with a bloody handprint on her shirt.

Marianne picked the dust cloth back up, intending to mop up the little blood she'd seen hit the wood before it stained.  She squinted at the cleaner parts of the door and tried to find where she'd knicked her finger.  Nothing stood out.  "Gotta be somewhere," she said under her breath, trading the cloth for her flashlight.  She spent a good five minutes searching every groove in that door without finding a trace of blood.

She sat back on her heels.  "Let me make one thing perfectly clear.  If I hear one 'feed me, Seymour' out of you, I will burn this whole place down."

When she unstuck her hand from her shirt, a gust of cold air whispered from underneath the door, chilling her legs as it rushed past.  She ignored it to study the sealed cut on her finger.  "I think you're gorgeous and very worth saving but I refuse to be the idiot in the horror movie who could have saved everyone if she'd just lit a match and torched the place.  Eating people is my line in the sand."  Convinced the bleeding portion of her day was over, she tried to rub some of the lingering evidence off her hand.  The breeze came again, stronger this time.

And this time, she remembered the ballroom didn't have any windows.

Marianne leaned down and examined the crack under the door.  The wind ghosted across her face.  She inhaled, catching traces of crushed flowers and moss.

" _Dawn, go away!  I'm no good for you_ ," her phone sang from her bag.  Marianne jerked backwards, ending up spreadeagle on the floor  She pursed her lips at the ceiling. 

"Thanks for the wake-up call."  So there was a hole somewhere in the ballroom.  It had been too dark for her to see the one time she'd been in there but the breeze seemed like pretty definitive proof.

She rolled to her feet and hurried to grab her phone before it went to voicemail.  "What's up, Dawn?"

"Marianne, where _are_ you?"

She frowned at the concern in her sister's voice.  "I'm in Scotland, Dawn.  Are you okay?"

Dawn let out a frustrated little huff.  "I know you're in Scotland, I meant where are you _in_ Scotland?"

"At the house like I almost always am," Marianne reminded her, getting annoyed.  "What's going on?"

"But it's getting dark out!" Dawn said.

At this point Marianne could hear alarms going off in her head.  Suspicion coated her voice when she asked, "Dawn...  did you google what time the sun was setting in Scotland today?"

"Er..."

" _Dawn_."

"There's a surprise at the inn and that's all I'm saying, bye!" Dawn said in a rush before hanging up.

Marianne glared at her phone.  "If the surprise is blonde and blue-eyed then it's going to be in so much trouble."  She shouldered her bag and ran out the front door, barely pausing to flip the lock.

Dawn had been right about it getting dark and it was true night by the time Marianne stormed into the inn's lobby.  Pare took one look at her then pointed in the pub's direction.  She nodded, dodging around the stairs.  The pub was usually pretty full at this time of night but it still only took seconds for Marianne to pick out her sister in the crowd.

In her rush, Marianne hadn't thought about how she would look bursting into the pub with her hair flying in all directions and blood smeared on her shirt.  The room went completely silent as the locals all stared at her, identical expressions of horror on their faces.

Dawn leapt up from the booth where she'd had her hands around a pint and _oh God she was of legal drinking age in Scotland_.  That thought drained all the blood from Marianne's face, which just made her look worse.  Then her sister was tackling her in a hug.

"Oh my God, Marianne, what _happened_ to you?"  

Right, the blood.  "I knicked my finger.  Way more dramatic than it looks."  The whole room let out a relieved sigh.  People returned to their conversations, although Marianne was aware they were keeping one eye on the free entertainment.  She gripped her sister's shoulders and pulled back from the hug to look in her eyes.  "What are you doing here, Dawn?"

Dawn looked at her with big, shining sky-blue eyes.  Her delicate bow of a mouth trembled.  "You said you wished I was here."

Marianne groaned.  "Okay, stop with the eyes.  You know I'm glad to see you -"

"Yay!"  Dawn tugged her into another hug and squeezed. 

A creeping, ugly feeling welled up in Marianne's chest.  It was her dad hugging her all over again.  She felt like she couldn't breathe, her skin was crawling and yet she never wanted Dawn to let go.  She wanted to be held and she couldn't stand it at the same time.  Marianne cleared her throat.  "I'd just like to know how you got here."

Dawn let go and it killed Marianne that she felt relieved.  Her sister started pulling her over to the deserted booth, explaining over her shoulder.  "Well, you know how worried dad gets and I kept saying how much I missed you but it was only when I got a date with one of Julianna's brothers - the football players, you remember? - that he finally booked the tickets."  She pushed Marianne into the booth then curled up next to her.  "Good thing he doesn't know I'm _really_ interested in Paolo."

"The barista?"

"No, the new librarian!  He's got such pretty eyes," Dawn sighed.  Marianne gave her a minute before poking her arm.  "Right, sorry.  Dad was worried you were biting off more than you could chew and that you were all alone where anything could happen to you so he sent us!"

Marianne's eyes narrowed.  "And who is us?"

"Hi Marianne!" came a cheery voice from her elbow.  She turned to see Sunny, Dawn's best friend since preschool, standing with two pints in his hands.  The tiny triangle goatee he'd just started growing when she left California didn't look too obvious against his dark skin but she still questioned the style choice.  His brown eyes lit up as they always did when he looked over at her sister.

Sunny had been in love with Dawn for years and if Marianne had ever seen the slightest hint that he was using her sister's trust to manipulate his way into her pants she would have gutted him.  Thankfully that seemed the furthest thing from his mind.  He even acted as Dawn's wingman and seemed genuinely invested in her happiness above his own.  It was almost enough to make her believe in true love.

Then the reason she _couldn't_ believe in true love appeared behind Sunny, with his stupid gold hair and venomously green eyes.  Roland had the nerve to smile at her as though he hadn't recently shattered her heart.  "Surprise, buttercup."

Marianne launched herself out of the booth.  Sunny was out of her way in a flash, leaving the path to Roland clear.  It was Dawn who held her back by clutching onto her shirt.  "Marianne, don't!"

"Let me go so I can kill him, Dawn!" she hissed, swinging her fist in Roland's direction.  As casually amused as his expression might be, he was still standing just out of range.  It wasn't the first time she'd tried to break his face.

"Calm down, darling.  You're making a scene."  He waved to their attentive audience.  No one waved back, which just cemented Marianne's good opinion of the village.

"Once Dawn let's me go you're going to get the _Les Misérables_ of scenes, you cheating son of a bitch!"  Her fist came within an inch of his face and she considered settling for scratching him.

"Ten pounds on the feisty one," the bartender said.  Marianne gave the woman a quick smile before kicking Roland in the shin.

"Come on, Marianne," he whined, limping backwards.

Dawn kept tugging on her shirt and Marianne finally spun around to glare.  "What is he doing here?"

"Dad insisted," she said.  "I told him you'd be mad but he just said we could use the help and you know how he gets when he decides he's had a good idea!"

"I don't want _his_ help!"

"I know," Dawn said.  The guilt in her eyes was easing Marianne's temper a bit but she was nowhere near calm. 

Roland undid Dawn's good work by wrapping an arm around her waist.  "I know you hate me right now, darling.  Just think of all the work you'll get done on the house with a little more muscle."  Then he actually flexed and Marianne despaired of her taste in men for eternity.

First she stomped on Roland's foot.  Next she elbowed him sharply in his toned gut.  His hands came off her in an instant.

Marianne turned on him and snarled in his face.  "I don't want _you_ in my house."

He tried a half-hearted grin.  "Technically it's your father's house."

For reasons unknown to her, at this statement of fact Marianne saw red.  "It's _mine_!  And you will not step one foot inside."  She shoved him back against the bar.  "Wash the windows.  Deal with the garden.  But cross Bogach's threshold and I will _feed you_ to him."

The second the words passed her lips she felt her heart still in her chest.  Him?

Marianne grit her teeth, refusing to let the doubt show on her face.  "Dawn, we're going to bed."

"We are?"

She didn't respond, just stomped out of the pub and trusted her sister to follow.  Marianne could feel the worry in the eyes that watched her leave.  She didn't blame them.  Anthropomorphizing houses was not the sanest thing a person could do.


	5. Come Running Back

Marianne and Dawn curled up together in the single bed, feet in each other's faces.  They'd changed into their pajamas in relative silence with the occasional hip check and muttered complaint in the bathroom.  Dawn could have gotten her own room but neither of them suggested it.  They'd been apart for a week and then with Roland...  Even with her issues, Marianne appreciated being close to her sister just then.

"So the house is a boy?"

Or maybe not.

Marianne shifted and pressed her face into the pillow.  "Leave me alone," she whined.

Dawn poked Marianne's ear with her toe.  "Stop smothering yourself and talk."

"Don't want to."

"Do, too."  Her sister kept nudging her, gentle but insistent.  "Just admit you're the heroine of a gothic romance."

"Never!"  The assertion lost some of its drama from being shouted into a pillow.  Such were the miseries of Marianne's life.

The other more relevant misery began poking her toes into Marianne's ribs to tickle her.  She flipped over and tried to wiggle away from Dawn's toes without falling off the bed.  Dawn just laughed.  "Jane Eyre!" 

Marianne kept her lips pressed tight to hold in the giggles.  She grabbed Dawn's feet and lightly dragged her fingernails up their vulnerable arches, making her sister shriek with giggles.  "Oh no, Mrs. de Winter is attacking me," she laughed.

"Would you stop referencing books where the house burns down?" Marianne asked with a roll of her eyes. 

"Oh shoot!"  Dawn propped herself up to look at her with worried eyes.  "That's bad luck, isn't it?"

She just smiled and pushed Dawn's feet back to their corner of the bed.  "Not nearly as bad as trying to tickle your sister to death."  The two of them fell back onto the mattress, relaxing into it now that their burst of silliness had passed.  After a few minutes of silence Marianne finally felt comfortable enough to answer her sister's first question.  "I don't know why I called the mansion a 'him'.  I hadn't even had that thought before it just..."  She lazily waved a hand through the air, "Spilled out."

She heard Dawn let out a little sigh.  "Must be losing your mind."

"Dawn!"

"I'm kidding," she said with a reassuring pat to her knee.  "It's not that weird.  People assign genders to inanimate objects all the time.  Like how kids name their stuffed animals."

She squinted at the dark ceiling.  "And Bogach is my stuffed animal in this scenario?"

"It _has_ been a source of comfort.  Hasn't it?"

"Yeah," Marianne admitted.  "But not the cuddly kind."

Dawn giggled.  "You said something about a spring wedding, right?"

She pulled the pillow out from behind her head and pelted her sister with it.  "It was a joke!"

Unfortunately now that Marianne was without a weapon, Dawn only grew bolder.  She clutched the pillow to her chest and sang, "Marianne and Bogach sitting in a tree - "

Marianne pounced on her, wrestling over the pillow in the hopes of eventually smothering Dawn with it.  Dawn clung to her only means of defense and even once she'd fallen asleep she remained curled around it.  After giving it up for a lost cause, Marianne fell asleep pressed close against her sister in order to share Dawn's pillow instead.  She'd had worse night's sleep.

The next morning could charitably be described as tense.  If only Marianne was feeling charitable.  Her feelings about it leaned more toward the phrase 'clusterfuck'. 

For starters, Roland sat down with the three of them for breakfast.  The porridge she'd just eaten went sour in Marianne's stomach when he smiled at her.  "Good morning, buttercup.  Did you ladies sleep well?"

She sneered.  "Drop dead."

He had the audacity to look hurt.  "I'm trying to be friendly, Marianne.  We can't ignore each other for the entire summer."

"Oh, I expect you'll have disappeared under mysterious circumstances before long," she said, dropping her spoon. 

Sunny winced at the loud 'clang' it made as it landed in her empty bowl and not-so-subtly scooted away from Roland's side of the booth as though he were too close to radioactive material.  She felt a pang of guilt.  Poor Sunny and Dawn were having their breakfasts ruined, too.

She got up.  "I've got errands to run.  See you guys in the front in thirty minutes or so, 'kay?" 

Without waiting for a response, Marianne bolted.  She managed to unwind slightly by stocking up on cleaning supplies, picking up a few extra buckets and wiping out the store's pile of polishing cloth.  The woman at the cash register nodded to her and their transaction proceeded in silence as it had for days now.  Then the woman hesitated, brown eyes flicking up to study Marianne's face.

"Heard you had some unexpected company."

"Er, yes?"  The silence hadn't actually bothered Marianne before and she wondered why the cashier felt the need to break it now.

"We have shovels in the back if you'll be needing them."

"Shovels?"  The penny dropped and she laughed.  "Oh, _shovels_.  Thanks but, uh, I'm not at that point yet."

The woman shrugged.  "Whatever you like.  People disappear up there often enough.  Wouldn't be any questions."  Then she handed Marianne her receipt with a sly grin.  "Something to keep in mind should the lad vex you."

"How thoughtful."  She was torn between appreciating the support and wondering just what the hell was wrong with this village.  God, she hoped there weren't a bunch of unmarked graves somewhere in Bogach's garden.  

Even seeing Roland again couldn't shake the conversation from her head and she was still thinking on it when Sunny interrupted their silent march up to the mansion.  He knocked his shoulder against her bicep.  "Hey, what's the story with that white cat at the inn?"

Dawn perked up.  "There's a cat?"

"He was under my bed this morning," Sunny told her, shifting the buckets in his arms.  He'd gotten off fairly easy when it came to carrying the supplies as the buckets were empty and Roland was lagging behind them with the rest of Marianne's purchases.

"Yeah, he gets around," she said.  Her eyes were fixed on the horizon.  On one hand, she wanted to run to Bogach and shut herself up inside its walls.  On the other, punchier hand, she didn't want Roland to set eyes on it.  She shook her head.  "Pare said he doesn't have an owner."

Dawn linked their hands together.  "Will he come to our room?"

Marianne smiled at her.  "Guaranteed."  That cat could finally have all the cuddles it wouldn't get from her.  Although she hadn't actually seen him since her first full day at Bogach Mansion.  Maybe he only liked novelty.  Either way, he would definitely be coming by to see Dawn.

"Whoa, get a load of that!" Sunny said, pointing at the horizon. 

She pulled her shoulders back and braced herself.  Up ahead Bogach Mansion stood as tall and proud as ever, darker than the stormclouds that were rolling in behind it.  At least this time she had an umbrella.  The four of them paused at the gate and Marianne watched their expressions, hoping to spot the awe she'd felt that first evening.

"Oh my," Dawn whispered.  Her eyes went from the house, to Marianne and then back again.  She looked as though she'd just realized something.

Roland snorted.  "What a nightmare."

Marianne instantly thought of shovels.  She let go of Dawn's hand to shove the gate open and marched ahead of them, footsteps crunching hard into the gravel of the drive.

Behind her she could dimly hear Sunny whisper, "Man, come on, I don't want to have to help Dawn hide your body."

Her sister caught up to her as Marianne was taking out the key.  She tilted her head back to look up at the mansion.  "Does it always look this angry or is it the clouds?"

Marianne considered that while unlocking the door.  She'd thought the same thing about Bogach and yet hearing it said aloud didn't feel right.  Anger was such a small word.  Nothing about Bogach was small.  Still, she knew what Dawn meant.  "No, that's just what it looks like."

"Okay."  Dawn nodded, fiddling with the cuffs of her blue sweater dress.  "We can work with that."

"You'll feel better when you see the library," Marianne assured her as she pushed open the front doors.

That turned out to be something of an understatement.  Dawn was damn near ecstatic when shown the library, moreso than any Disney princess.  She swooped over to the books with arms thrown open as though she were going to embrace the shelves.  "Oh my God, they're all so gorgeous."  Then she instantly pulled herself back, clasping her hands as she stared at the books with the feverish delight of an English Major.  "You poor, neglected beauties.  What's been done to you?"

Marianne watched her sister pull down her sleeves to cover her hands as she gently removed one of the books from the shelf.  Sunny shook his head beside her.  "We'll never get her out of here," he said.

She shrugged.  "She'll have to eat eventually."

"Not if these are first editions I won't!" Dawn called over to them.

Sunny looked at her sister as though she'd hung the moon while Marianne tried to disguise her laugh as a cough.  The mood was then ruined when Roland called out to her from the front door.  She scowled, turning on her heel.  Dawn wouldn't wander off while there were books to explore and Sunny wasn't going to leave her side.

Certain the people she didn't hate would be fine, she went to deal with the one she did.  Roland had dumped the cleaning supplies just inside the door but hadn't stepped over the threshold.  It might have been the first smart thing he'd done all day.  She nudged the supplies out of the way of the doors with her foot before looking at Roland.

"All right, darling," he said, hands raised in surrender.  "You're mad at me.  I've got the message."

"Oh good, I was worried it had gotten lost in the mail."  She smiled with too many teeth.  "Wait, no I wasn't.  Because I didn't send any message, I just went for the screaming in your fucking face approach _._ "

He sighed.  "Marianne, I really don't want to call your father - "

"Oh, by all means, do call!  While you're on with him, be sure to mention that you weren't wearing a condom when you were fucking that TA so at any point during our relationship you could have given me an STI.  And if he can't support my decision after knowing _that_ , then he can forget about talking to me ever again."  Marianne slammed the door in Roland's face and flipped the lock.

"Marianne," he whined.  "It's going to rain!"

"Here's hoping you drown," she muttered.  A faint chuckle echoed in the entry hall and Marianne looked behind her.  Then she rolled her eyes.  It was going to take time to get used to people being in the house.  Sunny had probably laughed and the sound traveled.

As much as Marianne had enjoyed the solitude, she could admit it was nice to have company.  The extra hands were a sweet bonus, too.  Sunny helped her put a shine into the library's parquet floor while Dawn perched on the loveseat and diligently removed the dust from the books, entering the titles into her phone as she went.  She had given Marianne a patient look when asked what she was doing. 

"I'm cataloguing."  Dawn held up one of the newly-dusted books.  "Each of these has been first editions so far.  There's probably hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of books sitting in this house.  Best not to lose track."  Then she raised the iPod she'd slipped out of Marianne's purse.  "I packed the iPod speakers in the lunch bag.  Want to put on some tunes?"

"Thief," she muttered after retrieving her iPod.

"You need to change your password," Dawn cooed.

Sunny's head popped up from behind the loveseat.  "Oh hey, do you have Sia?"

After that they established a rhythm, which Marianne briefly interrupted in order to start sliding on the floor to the chorus of _Chandelier_.  At noon when the rain started to fall and they were forced to eat their lunch inside, she pictured Roland standing in the bog, his perfectly-styled hair plastered to his head.  It put a smile on her face that Sunny described as terrifying.

Once they were through with the floor, Sunny helped Marianne dust the shelves so the books would have a nice clean home to come back to once Dawn was through with them.  He asked her questions about the house as they worked and Marianne appreciated his interest.  Although she could tell he found the place unsettling, it was tempered with respect.  Plus any place that could make Dawn smile was all right with him.

It calmed Marianne's heart to know that her sister would have an affection for Bogach based solely on the library.  The rest of the place could be crawling with spiders but a beautiful library forgave just about every sin in Dawn's book.  She'd been a little frightened that her sister would hate the house.  That would have stung, though she couldn't say why.  Their tastes rarely aligned and she was used to ignoring her sister's opinion about a number of things.

When they were leaving for the night, Marianne stroked the front door's knockers after she'd locked up.  Dawn shot her a grin.  "Yes, your boyfriend's very cute.  Now let's get dinner!"

They didn't run into Roland on the walk back to the village and Marianne didn't see him when they settled in for dinner at the pub.  When she slipped up to her room, leaving Dawn and Sunny laughing about a movie they'd seen, she'd begun to fantasize that he'd caught the first plane back to California.  Her disappointment when a knock on her door turned out to be him instead of Dawn was crushing.

She shifted uncomfortably in her long-sleeved red flannel top and matching boxer shorts, too aware that she wasn't wearing underwear beneath them.  He held up a bottle of wine and two glasses.  "I come in peace?"  Her mouth opened to reply but he interrupted her.  "I know.  You'd prefer I'd come in _pieces_ , right?"

Since that had been exactly what she was going to say, Marianne decided silence was the best reply.  She stared at him with narrowed eyes and waited for his next move.

He extended the wine bottle out to her and for once the smile on his face didn't fall under the smug category.  "You have every right to slam the door in my face again.  But I wanted to give you this and to tell you that you were right.  About everything."

"Who are you and where's Roland?" she demanded.

He laughed and it actually managed to sound self-deprecating.  "I deserved that.  Look, if you don't want to hear me apologize I'll leave this with you to share with Dawn."  Roland started to lean over to set the bottle at Marianne's feet.

She found herself stepping back and opening the door for him.  "If you're going to give me a real apology this time, I want to hear it."

He didn't question his luck, just quickly ducked into her room.  She closed the door and faced him with her arms crossed.  Roland laid the bottle and the glasses on the bed then came back to face her.  "You were the best thing that ever happened to me," he began.  "And it kills me to know that I'm one of the worst things to happen to you."

This was so surreal.  Marianne suspected she was having an out of body experience.

"There's no excuse for what I did but I want you to know it wasn't because I wanted her more than you.  I was failing the class and I was hoping she'd help me if I...  Look, it was a dick move.  I took the easy way out and I didn't want to admit to it to you.  I always felt larger than life in your eyes, you know?  I felt like I _couldn't_ fail."  He reached out and took her hand.  "I am so sorry for hurting you."

Then he got down on one knee and asked, "Will you marry me?"

Marianne blinked.  Had she missed something?  "I'm sorry...?"

He smiled.  "It's okay.  I forgive you."

She jerked her hand out of his grip.  "What do you mean, you forgive me?  Forgive me for what?"

"For attacking me."  He was still on his knees, looking up at her with an understanding expression that made her want to scream.  "I hurt you, you hurt me.  We're even."

"Even?" she shouted and her voice shook in every corner of the room.  "You pathetic bastard!  Let's do a quick recap, shall we?  Every time I've hurt you it's because you were either touching me without my permission or as a result of you fucking stalking me across the globe."

He shook his head.  "I wasn't stalking you, Marianne.  You always overdramatize - "

"You're fucking _gaslighting_ me now?  No, that's it.  We're done here."  She ripped open the door and pointed.  "Get out of my room!"

Roland was still on his damn knees and he showed no signs of moving.  "If you'd just talk this out like an adult - " he started and Marianne almost kneed him in the face.  Instead she stuck her feet in her running shoes, grabbed her purse and a terrycloth robe.

"Fine, you stay here and explain to Dawn why you're creeping where she sleeps.  I'm fucking gone."

She ran down the stairs, jumping over the cat who stared after her with too-human eyes.  Marianne thought she might have heard Dawn calling her name as she raced out of the inn but she didn't stop to check.  She couldn't be around people.  She could barely be around _herself_.

Only when she was halfway to Bogach did she realize that's where she'd planned to go.  She picked up her pace and charged through the gates at a sprint.  Next she fumbled at the lock, her fingers shaking as she pawed at the front doors.  She just wanted to get inside, goddammit.  "Please just let me in," she whispered.  "Let me in, please please..."  Finally the lock turned and she fell into the house with a relieved sigh.

If she also sat down in that entrance hall, hugging her knees and trying to calm her frantic breathing there was no one to know but the house.  If she maybe, just possibly cried a little then no one could judge her. 

The chill breeze rushed over her sweaty skin and made her tremble.  She pulled her robe tight around her body before making herself stand up.  Once she'd locked the front doors, she pulled the flashlight out of her purse.  That was when she noticed she'd stuck the iPod speakers in the bag.  Suddenly she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

The utter blackness of the ballroom didn't abate even in the face of her flashlight but that suited Marianne right down to the ground.  She left the carved doors open and crossed the space, setting up the iPod and speakers beside a mirrored wall.  Already she was humming a jazzy song by April Smith, perking her up by force.  The sound of her voice bounced off the walls and echoed back to her.  The acoustics had her grinning and at the part in the song in her head when the drums came in, she abandoned her iPod to spin to the center of the room and belt out the crescendo.

"So if you ever wonder if I'm dreaming of you in the night at my window by the light of the moon!"  Her voice resonated.  She thought she could even feel it in the floor through her shoes.  Then she laughed.  "Bitch, please.  I've got better things to do."

She held that last note as she danced back to her iPod and got down to those better things.  Gin Wigmore was perfect for her mood.  Marianne shed her robe and jumped into the music.  It probably said something about her state of mind that several of her 'dance' moves involved punching the air before using an imaginary sword to destroy her invisible nemesis. 

Marianne rolled her body along to the trumpet of one song then breathlessly sang the lyrics to another, using the burn of her muscles to push back that helpless feeling.  As long as there was music she could forget that she'd been powerless before a man like Roland.  She couldn't make him go, could never run far enough.  He knew how to pick at her weak spots about her anxiety, the uncertainty that made her wobble.

To hell with it.

She didn't stop dancing until she felt giddy on endorphins, perched on the top of the world in the most glorious house ever built.  At last she had to rest and she stood quietly in the center of the ballroom, waiting until she caught her breath.  But when Gin sang that she couldn't win on her own, Marianne hurried to shut off her iPod.  "No, we aren't doing any soulful ballads tonight.  Thanks anyway!" 

She cut the music.  The void of noise made her breaths sound as cacophonous as an elephant stampede.  It was long past time for her to go back to the inn.  Dawn would be worried. 

Marianne sighed, pulling on her robe and fastening the tie.  It was going to be a cold walk back.  She took a moment to look at the ballroom once more.  This time with the glimmer of her flashlight illuminating a few crystals in the massive chandeliers she could see the appeal of the design.  The lights from the chandelier would sparkle against the black marble, creating the appearance of stars in a night sky.  All the mirrors would reflect them over and over until the dancers were flying through a starry landscape far from earth.

"A good place to lose yourself," she murmured.

Then some _thing_ curled over her shoulder and pulled her backwards.  She panicked.  Her shoes shrieked against the floor as she fought what felt like unnaturally long fingers hooked into her robe.  It was too strong and she had to undo the robe's tie, slipping both out of it and the thing's grasp.

Marianne twisted as she fell, knocking her head sharply against the marble.  Through the pounding in her skull she heard the rustle of her robe falling to the ground.  She fought the pain and pushed herself up onto her elbows.  As she did so her flashlight went spinning across the floor, a wild light that for a moment showed her a hulking figure stepping through the mirror.  Marianne stared dumbfounded as the light spun again.

Clawed hands.  Gray skin.  _Exoskeleton armor_. 

She was hyperventilating.  She could feel it but there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop herself.  Instead she began to scoot back across the marble, trying to put space between her and the creature slowly coming towards her.  Another spin of the flashlight showed her that it carried a staff with intricate curls of vines and flowers at the top, a glowing chunk of amber secured at its center.  She had the distant thought that she'd seen that staff before somewhere.

The flashlight had stopped spinning and now cast a dull glow over the floor, far too dim to help her see the creature that approached.  God, she needed to run.  Marianne tensed her legs, ready to spring up and away once her feet had traction on the floor.  A shadowy arm reached out to her.

A deep purr of a brogue hummed through the air and into the marble beneath her.  "Marianne," it beckoned.  Warmth soaked through her skin.  She smelled flowers and rich, freshly turned earth.  The urge to lie back and bask sapped the tension from her legs.

Blue eyes glowed in the dark, so blue and radiant and _right_.  She'd drown in all that blue but she couldn't look away. 

"Marianne," the voice felt whispered into her ear along with the press of lips although not a soul had touched her.  "You want to stay, do you not?"

The massive shadow was looming over her, its staff rooted by her leg as it leaned to gaze down at her face.  And she wanted to stay, of course she did.  She was happy here.  She'd only ever be happy here and she'd known it since birth.  "You waited so long to come here, Marianne," it agreed with her thoughts. 

She felt her breathing even out and her muscles uncoiled.  It felt like such a fight to stay up on her elbows now and why fight?  What a silly thing to do when she could rest here where she was meant to be.

"You _must_ stay," he told her.

Marianne began to lie down when, for whatever reason, the word 'must' stuck in her head.  Must.  _Must_.

And he... he had told her she _must_...  He... _Him_.

Dawn was right.  Dawn was right and she needed to get out of that house right fucking now.

Marianne had seconds to think and even less than that to act.  She struck out with her leg, knocking the staff out from under the creature and throwing it off balance.  It gave her time to leap to her feet and race out the ballroom doors before throwing her weight against them until they shut.

A frustrated shout pounded against the doors.  Then she heard the words that could stop her galloping heart.

" _Get her_."

Oh shit.  That meant there were more.  There were more of whatever he was and they were coming. 

She spun around to run then screamed in surprise as her three birds fluttered into her face.  But no, they weren't birds.  The colors were right and the size but these were no goddamn birds.  They were tiny women in flower petal dresses with clawed hands and tiny fangs.  She charged past them, sprinting for the front doors. 

They didn't try to stop her but then they didn't have to because like an idiot she'd left the fucking keys to the doors in the ballroom.  She'd have to break a window to get out.  Marianne started to run for the library when the green not-bird flew straight into her chest.  A metal object jolted painfully against her collarbone. 

She looked down and saw the key to the door clutched in the green creature's little hands.  It - no these were ladies and apparently still her friends - she dropped the key into Marianne's palm.  "Thank you," she told the not-bird.

The rapid approach of stomping feet sang a warning through the halls as she unlocked the door.  She tried to run again but this time the other two not-birds stopped her, swinging through the front door with one of the antique swords in their grip.  Marianne, terrified and pursued by otherwordly monsters, grinned.

"That's more like it."  She took the sword and plunged out into a world she barely recognized.  The overgrown lawn was a forest of vines.  Marianne chopped viciously at any that reached for her as she ran.  Many a time she felt the tug of claws or a graze of teeth.  The dark sky allowed her no light to see the threat and she had to swing haphazardly in their general direction.  She heard cries of pain and inhuman roars but never once allowed herself to pause.

Her friends kept up a constant whistling tune, leading her toward the gate.  Once she reached it she found that the decorative thorns had become real, binding the bars in a thick, immovable wall.  Well, that was just fine.  She didn't need it to move.

First Marianne threw the key over the gate.  Then she drove the sword into the thicket and used it to lever herself up.  It only got her so far.  She had to grip the thorns, raking her hands as she climbed.  They bit into her bare legs and tore at her clothes.  Distressed wails from her pursuers spurred her on and once at the top of the gate her not-bird friends pushed her to safety.

She hit the ground hard, jarring her ill-used body.  There was a deafening silence from Bogach but she did not turn to see what had happened.  She snatched the key to the house from the dirt before running down the road to the village.

Marianne was glad she could scarcely breathe as she ran.  Underneath the pounding of her heart, she was afraid she felt a well of laughter desperate for release.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gorgeous art courtesy of mollyflood.


	6. No Kind of Man

Marianne slumped against Pare's vacant desk, the key to Bogach tucked snugly in the waist of her boxers.  Her eyes strayed to the clock on the wall and she noted that it was half past eleven.  Funny, she hadn't thought it had been that late when she ran from the inn.  But hey, what did she know about reality? 

She let her forehead rest near the bell as she waited for her breathing to even out.  Her heart was racing still and she couldn't seem to get a complete breath in before it went whooshing out once more.  Even if she got Pare's attention she wouldn't be able to talk to him.  The scratches along her hands, arms and legs were beginning to sting.  A wet slide of liquid tickled the back of her knee.  Sweat or blood?

The rough sweep of a cat's tongue lapped up whatever it was and left Marianne praying it had been sweat.  She dragged her head along the desk until only her forehead rested on its surface and she could stare down at the overly affectionate cat.  He blinked up at her innocently.  She huffed out a frustrated breath but then every breath had that huffing quality so he probably didn't pick up on the nuance.  Marianne nudged at him gently with her foot.  Instead of getting lost, he sat down on her other foot and began to purr.

There was this tight, burning sensation right behind her eyes that Marianne absolutely refused to acknowledge.  She did, however, lean down to pick up the cat and hold him tight against her chest.  His purring got louder and the vibrations felt weirdly comforting.  He even twisted his head around to quickly press his nose to her cheek in what felt like a kiss.  The rapid rise and fall of her chest finally eased.

"This changes nothing," she muttered into his fur.  "I'm still not a cat person."

"Then it's lucky he's not a cat."

Marianne jumped, squeezing the cat too tight as she recoiled from the sudden appearance of a woman behind the desk.  She expected to get scratched and, while the cat did let out an angry hiss, he seemed to be pressing himself tighter in her arms.  Loosening her grip, she angled her body so that the cat was held away from the desk. 

The strange woman smiled.  "Sorry, dear.  The two of us don't get on."

"So... would that make you Lizzie?" Marianne asked.  The cat hissed again, which confirmed it for her.  She'd only ever seen him react that way to the mention of Pare's wife.

Lizzie nodded.  "You've a quick mind, Miss Marianne.  But then you'd have to."  She looked over the multitude of scratches covering Marianne's limbs and whistled.  "Oh, his majesty's going to be in a foul mood."

"His... his what?"

"Come on back, dear," Lizzie said, opening the door behind the desk to where Marianne had assumed Pare lived.  "I'll patch you up after I get the windows closed.  We'll be seeing a storm tonight, make no mistake."  She didn't wait to see if Marianne would follow, hurrying into her living room.

The cat turned his eyes on her. 

"You're not getting out of this," Marianne told him.  "If I'm losing my mind I'm taking you with me."

He let out a disgruntled mew but didn't try to wriggle out of her arms when she walked around the desk to follow Lizzie.  She nudged the door closed with her hip then looked around the room.  It had a low ceiling and a brick fireplace.  Multiple rugs were thrown over the wooden floor, none of them quite matching.  Marianne carefully sat on the couch near the empty fireplace, unwilling to bleed on the green corduroy.  On the coffee table across from her sat a clear vase holding those same pink flowers she'd seen around the village.

She was leaning forward to smell them when the sound of rain banging against the windows like angry pebbles startled her.  Marianne slipped off the couch and in an effort not to drop the cat ended up jamming her shoulder into the coffee table, knocking over the vase.  "Oh, shit!" she hissed, dumping the cat behind her on the couch.  She quickly righted the vase and tried to sop up the water with her pajama top while gathering the flowers.

The cat made an unhappy sound and shifted behind her.  Lizzie had probably come back, then.  "I'm so sorry," Marianne said.

"No trouble, dear.  That table's seen worse than a wee bit of water."  She set a first aid kit on the dry half of the table.

Marianne looked up to thank her and promptly felt her heart stop.  Green scales shimmered on the left side of Lizzie's face and her eye was surrounded by deep purple bruises.  Half of her features had gone flat, reptilian.  Lizzie took in the expression on her face then looked to the flowers clenched in her fist.  She winced then, turning so that only the right, more human side of her profile showed.  "Apologies, Miss Marianne.  If you drop the primroses - "

Behind her, the cat made a squeaking sound that was decidedly not feline.  Marianne turned to look even as Lizzie tried to warn her.

"Wait, wait, Miss Marianne you don't want to see that!"

On the couch cushions sat a creature Marianne had never seen in nature.  He had a rat tail, ears long enough for a rabbit, a pointed little face and sharp teeth.  His eyes were still black, his fur still white but he was very much not a cat.  He made a little inquiring noise and leaned towards her.

"No!" Marianne shrieked, flailing backwards and crawling along the floor until her back hit the fireplace.  Her fingers were still locked tight around the flowers but she'd forgotten all about them.  She'd decided when she came back into the village that she wasn't going to think about what had happened to her that night until she had a moment alone to process.  First she needed to let Dawn know she was all right, she needed to disinfect her wounds.  Figuring out exactly what had been dwelling in the walls of Bogach and what they'd wanted with her had to wait until she was at liberty to freak out in private. 

Now the truth was alternately staring at her with concern and sulking with his enormous ears draped over his eyes.  Dammit, she was supposed to be able to deal with her psychotic break without an audience!

"What the fuck?" she said.  "Seriously, just... what the fuck is going on around here?"

"Quite a lot," Lizzie said, lifting a hand to better cover her face.

That well of laughter Marianne had been so worried about when she'd run from the mansion finally bubbled up.  She started giggling and lifted her hands to her mouth to stifle it, getting a mouthful of petals for her trouble.  That made her laugh harder.  "Birds aren't birds," she wheezed between gasps.  "Cats aren't cats.  And mirrors have monsters in them.  How is this my life?"

"Miss Marianne, you might feel better if you let go of the primroses," Lizzie suggested.

Well, it certainly couldn't hurt.  Marianne dropped the flowers.  Then she blinked rapidly as the thing on the couch became a cat and Lizzie looked entirely human once more.  "Oh, so I've lost my mind.  How comforting."

"It's far worse than that, dear," Lizzie said.  She picked up the first aid kit and sat with Marianne on the floor.  The streaks of gray in her long, plaited black hair were reassuringly normal.  Marianne concentrated on them when Lizzie reached out and gently began dabbing neosporin on the gouges in her arm.  "You've learned a truth about the world you were never meant to know."

That sounded like her rotten luck.  "And drinking to forget isn't an option?"

Lizzie gave her a sympathetic look.  "You made out better than most who found themselves in your shoes."

She snorted.  "I was nearly kidnapped by an oversized stick insect before tearing myself to pieces on a gate made of thorns.  My one hope was that I was just having hallucinations but it turns out medication is not going to fix this problem.  How is this good?"

"Nearly is the key word there," Lizzie said as she turned her arm and continued disinfecting.  "You could have ended up like me."

Marianne stiffened.  "He... he came after you, too?"

Lizzie laughed but it was a bitter sound.  "Oh no, his majesty had no interest in me.  A few bored goblins snatched me when I was a child.  They like children, the same way humans like miniature dogs.  Well, sometimes the same.  The ones who took me weren't looking for a meal, at least."

Giving in to what was probably a rude impulse, Marianne studied the left side of Lizzie's face.  She knew what she'd seen but if Lizzie had been human from the start...  "Did they do something to your face?"

Lizzie let go of her arm to touch her fingertips to the places on her cheek where Marianne had seen green scales.  She wondered if Lizzie could feel them even when they were invisible.  From the sorrow in her dark eyes, she thought it likely.

"I was trapped with the Fae for a very long time," she murmured.  "When they took me there was no mansion on the mound.  When I escaped there was not a soul left living who had ever heard of me."

Marianne gaped at her.  "But... but you don't look more than fifty!"

"Time is different beneath a fairy mound."  The way she spat the word 'fairy' made it sound like a curse.  "I left it the same age I'd been taken."

It was difficult to imagine what being trapped with strange creatures for hundreds of years would do to a person.  Even worse was picturing a child wishing to come home only to find a world more alien than the one she'd left.  Marianne fought back the memory of her mother's limp body and empty blue eyes.  "And now you're married to Pare?"

A gentle smile unfurled on Lizzie's face as her eyes went soft.  "He looked after me when I came back.  No one would have anything to do with a changeling but he was so kind, even when he saw my face."

"That sounds like Pare," Marianne said.  She flexed her fingers, relishing in the sting.  Pain meant this was real and she could, _would_ , find a way to handle it.  "This would be easier if I wasn't on the floor."  She stood up and offered Lizzie a thorn-raked hand.

She waved her off, standing on her own.  "I didn't want to push you."

Marianne shrugged and tried not to feel too embarrassed about her freak out.  Surely she was entitled to a little panic when the rules of the universe suddenly bent to include the impossible?  "No, it's fine.  I had my hysterics and now I'm ready to move on."

The two of them settled on the couch where the not-cat had squeezed himself into a corner, staring at Marianne with hurt eyes.  While Lizzie tended the abrasions on her knees, Marianne reached out to gently touch one of his ears.  It felt real but then it always had.  "Sorry for yelling, little guy."  He stayed in his corner but his muscles looked less tightly bunched.  Marianne glanced back at Lizzie.  "Was he a child, too?"

"I don't know.  He was a fixture when I was there, always zipping from court to court."  Lizzie took her other hand, examining a particularly deep gouge across her knuckle.

"Court?"

"There are two," she explained.  "Seelie and Unseelie.  Light and Dark.  Although the words don't quite mean the same to them as to us."

"And the, er, fairies under Bogach?"

Lizzie chuckled.  "I really shouldn't have called them that.  They find the term insulting.  Fae works.  Or the Fair Folk or Good Folk.  Not to say that those titles are accurate.  It's just better to use them than not."

"I think I'll just stick to the folk.  Less Disney," Marianne decided.  "So what court do the folk under Bogach belong to?  And... his majesty?"

Lizzie gave her a wry look.  "You've seen Bogach, Miss Marianne.  Which court would you suppose resides beneath it?"

She grinned and felt that surge of fondness that had become a constant over the last week.  It was a relief.  For a moment she'd worried the creatures beneath it would change her feelings for the house.  "Good point."

Lizzie shook her head.  "It's strange to speak of these things aloud.  Stranger still to meet a runner."  She gently patted Marianne's arm.  "You must be swift."

"I was lucky."  She explained about her bird friends, how they'd fetched her Bogach's key and a sword.  

"Ah, the foreign birds Pare mentioned," Lizzie said.  "I wondered if they might be pixies begging for human food.  Lucky you kept feeding them.  If you'd stopped they might have taken offense."

"Good thing I'm a sucker," Marianne joked.  As mad as it sounded, the fact that there were rules for dealing with the folk made her less frightened of them.  They weren't vague, unknowable monsters.  They were just eccentric neighbors.  Eccentric, child-eating neighbors who's tried to kidnap her.

Never mind.  If there were rules then she had a chance to win.

Strange, though, that as kind as Pare was he had never thought to warn her or even subtly hint that she should keep feeding the birds.  Or warn her about any of it except a vague hint about the house being troubled.  Marianne's eyes narrowed with thought.  "Lizzie?"

Lizzie hummed, still tending to her scratches.

"Is my sister all right?"

"Oh aye, tucked up in bed.  She fretted after you left but we told her you'd just gone for a run to clear your head and would be back in no time."

Marianne frowned.  "But you didn't know that."

"I'm afraid we had to lie to her.  If she'd charged up to Bogach after you, well, it doesn't bear thinking about," Lizzie said.

While she could feel her shoulders drawing back and her muscles tightening, Marianne couldn't do a damned thing to stop it.  Lizzie paused and glanced up at her with concern.  "Miss Marianne?  Is something wrong?"

"You knew I'd be attacked."  She hadn't known she'd meant to say that but once the words were out she knew they were true.

"It seemed likely," Lizzie admitted.  "The sun had gone down and you being such a pretty thing - "

"And you never said a fucking word!"  She stood up, jerking her arms away from Lizzie's care.  "Shit, you were surprised when I made it back in one piece.  You _knew_ the folk were going to come after me and you didn't even care!"

"Of course I cared," Lizzie said.  "But that's the way of things here.  People come to the mansion and are either frightened off or disappeared.  The village doesn't interfere with the Fae's business and they don't interfere with us.  We have children to think of, Miss Marianne."

Oh God, the way the children had stared after her.  The way the people in the pub had stared.  Everyone had known.  She'd called Bogach a 'him' and they'd _known_.

There was a slowly building ache in her shoulder.  She pressed her hand against it while she glared at Lizzie.  "Pare didn't care about _the way of things_ when he helped you."

"I wasn't being pursued.  I won my freedom when I trapped the imp."  Lizzie gestured to the not-cat, who snarled at her.

"So what, I'm being pursued now?" she demanded. 

"From what you've said, the King under Bogach came to take you _himself_.  That you managed to run from him will only whet his appetite."  It seemed like Lizzie was about to say more when she noticed how hard Marianne had begun to clutch at her shoulder.  "What's wrong there?"

"Nothing.  It just hurts."  It felt like a vice being tightened but she didn't want Lizzie's hands on her.  She didn't trust the woman.  "Probably happened when he grabbed me."

"You were touched!"  Lizzie sprang to her feet.  "Oh, saints have mercy, it's nearly midnight."

Marianne opened her mouth to ask why that was relevant when her vision began to swim.  She tipped over, falling into the couch.  Her ears started buzzing with inaudible whispers and she felt the bite of claws in her shoulder.  For an instant Marianne was convinced she could swing out and hit someone who wasn't really there.  Hell, why not?

At the first hint of blue eyes she smashed her fist in their general direction.  Her vision cleared for a moment and she found herself lying on the floor near the discarded flowers.  The cat - imp? - was scooting the primroses towards her with his nose.  She reached out and crushed the blossoms between her fingers.  The pressure on her shoulder eased then disappeared entirely when she pressed the petals against it.

When she looked at the cat again, she could see his true form and his nose looked as though he'd had a layer of skin peeled off it.  "How do I fix that?" Marianne asked, still a touch woozy from whatever had just happened.

The imp sneezed and shook his head.

"Whatever you say, hero."  She eased herself up and spotted Lizzie huddled by the fireplace with a poker in her hands.  "What the fuck just happened?"

"Midnight is a meeting of worlds, one day to the next.  The Fae can use that if they've the power.  His majesty left his fingerprints on you."  The woman looked shaken, still clutching at the poker in her hands.

Marianne didn't think the thing in the mirror had touched her skin.  But maybe...  She pulled her collar to the side and looked at her bare shoulder.  There was a vivid purple bruise in the shape of a handprint curled over her skin.  Apparently that meant he still metaphysically had a hand on her.  How thrilling.

"Does it work the other way round?" she asked.  Lizzie shook her head and Marianne sighed.  "Pity.  I'm pretty sure I decked him."

"You _what_?"

"I wonder if it's still assault if it happens in a fever dream," Marianne pondered.  "Oh well, he can fucking sue me if he likes.  What I want to know is why you're holding a fire poker."

Lizzie swallowed hard, her hands slowly lowering.  "It's iron.  The metal's a poison to them."

Marianne was getting that punching urge again.  "So I was being abducted before your eyes, you had a weapon, and did fuck all.  That's just great."

"I can't go back," Lizzie said, her voice shaking.  "I _can't_."

"Well, I can."  She reached out and took the poker from the woman's slack fingers.  "And when I do, I'm going to need this."

Once someone admits to your face that they wouldn't lift a hand to stop you from being kidnapped, there's really nowhere else to go.  Marianne slipped quietly upstairs to her room with the imp close behind her.  Dawn had left the door unlocked.  A tension Marianne hadn't even noticed building in her heart finally eased when she saw her sister fast asleep in bed.  She quietly changed into new pajamas and eased into bed beside her, all the time with the primrose petals pinned firmly against her palm.  The imp jumped up after her, curling up between their bodies.  She could make out the flash of his black eyes in the dark but not much else.  "No funny business," she whispered.

He snored in response.

Marianne fell asleep faster than she'd expected, the outlines of a plan taking shape in her mind.  She still didn't think she'd gotten nearly enough sleep when Dawn shook her awake in the morning.

"Oh my God, Marianne, what happened to you?" she demanded, eyes wide with fear.  Marianne knew she'd looked like hell last night and sleep apparently hadn't done her any favors there.  She was sort of hoping the imp would distract Dawn with his adorable kitty-face but he was missing.  Typical.

"I fell down a few times," Marianne said.  It wasn't technically a lie.

"You look like you lost a fight with a thorn bush!"

"Hey, I won that fight."  Okay, she was going to need more sleep before she could lie to her sister.  If she wasn't careful she'd blurt out some nonsense about kings in mirrors.  "Dawn, I'm exhausted.  Could we talk about this later?"

"What's that on your shoulder?"

 _Oh shit_.  She needed a convincing lie and fast.  "I ran into a door."  Mentally she slapped her forehead.  Oh yeah, super convincing lie, Marianne.  No way Dawn would see through that.

Her sister pulled at her shirt collar and Marianne could see the murder in her eyes.  "A hand-shaped door?"  It was actually really creepy to see Dawn with the someone's-going-to-die-and-it-won't-be-an-accident expression Marianne had patented.  "Was this door named Roland, too?"

"Roland?"  God, Marianne had completely forgot about that fight.  Suddenly the look of bloody vengeance on Dawn's face and Marianne's general appearance of having been fed through a wood chipper took on an entirely different meaning.  "Oh wait, no!  That's not... Look, we had a fight but it wasn't _that_ kind of fight.  I just had some bad luck during my run."

Dawn looked skeptical.  "So after your fight with Roland you fell into a thorn bush and ran into a door?"

"You know me, Dawn.  Clumsy streak a mile wide," Marianne said. 

"When you were a teenager," Dawn pointed out.

"Brief relapse," she countered.  "Doomed to get worse if I don't sleep it off."  With that, she collapsed back into her pillow.

Dawn let out an annoyed huff before rolling out of the bed.  "Why are there flower petals in the sheets?"

Marianne groaned.  "I'm shedding, leave me alone."  Her sister finally went into the bathroom and she counted herself lucky she hadn't noticed the fire poker under the bed.

With the benefit of a moment’s quiet Marianne could put the finishing touches on her plan. She could use the excuse of picking up a generator in the nearest city to get Sunny, Roland and Dawn out of town. If she leaned on Sunny she could get him to keep Dawn busy with shopping and historical landmarks. She didn’t actually remember the name of the nearest city but it was Scotland. _Everything_ was a historical landmark.

Besides, if Dawn thought Roland had pushed her around then getting him alone and away from Marianne would also be an attractive lure. Now she just needed to find that damn imp to work on the second half of her master plan.

Two hours later found Marianne curled up in bed with her laptop and a deceptively cat-looking imp snuggled in beside her. Dawn hadn’t so much agreed to the suggested trip as seized on the plan and made it hers. Apparently there was a heap of personal shopping she wanted to get done and Sunny didn’t have nearly enough sweaters and Roland would just be thrilled to do all the heavy lifting. This had been said with a sharp laugh and a shadow of promised violence. Then Dawn had fluttered around Marianne as though her sister were a bedridden invalid, bringing her breakfast in bed and gently washing all of her scrapes a second time.

Now Dawn was off for a full day of shopping and Marianne was fighting off a few lingering pangs of guilt. Lying to her sister felt especially shitty when she was so worried. But what was she supposed to do? Tell her about the things she’d seen? She’d either think Marianne had lost her mind or she’d insist on helping. Dragging her baby sister into battle with the king of darkness didn’t strike her as responsible.

So she got to work researching the Fae on the internet and looking to the imp for confirmation. His nose was healing slowly and she wished she could help him. After a little more research, she was keenly glad she hadn’t stated that wish out loud. God forbid one of the folk thought she owed them something. Even a simple ‘thank you’ was as good as an admission of debt.

“Just so we’re clear,” Marianne told him, gently stroking his silken fur, “I do not owe you for your help. This is you paying me back for the cuddles you took without permission.”

The air went still and the imp looked up at her with old, knowing eyes. She looked straight back. “You wanted something from me and I gave it. Now you’re repaying me. If you have a problem with that arrangement, you can just go on owing me.”

The imp yawned, showing off his flashing white fangs. But he didn’t leave and Marianne took that as an agreement.

By late afternoon Marianne was ready to gear up for battle. She pulled on her favorite jeans, laced up her most flexible boots and tugged her rattiest purple sweater over her head. She picked up the belt she’d used to secure the mansion’s gate that first night and ran a finger over the scratch in the leather. With the memory of claws pinching at her skin, she drew it through her belt loops and fashioned a makeshift harness for the fire poker. It dangled by her left leg like a sword. Then she snatched up a canvas bag and went hunting through town for two giant containers of salt and as many primrose petals as she could snatch. A few petals she tucked into her hair with bobby pins, just in case.

Then, with what felt like the entire village’s eyes watching, she walked up the road to Bogach Mansion. Marianne could guess what they were wondering. Why was she risking this? That wasn’t a bad question, either. Sadly she only had a bad answer.

Because she was pissed off, that’s why. Her father paid honest money for that house, she’d put in labor to wash away the grime and some insect bastard thought he could swagger up from hell and frighten her off? Marianne wasn’t the best at making good decisions when she was angry and she’d been angry since _his majesty_ had tried to steal her without permission.

Not that permission was a thing that would ever happen. Jeez, what a weird thought. She shook her head and approached the gates that had left her looking like a car that belonged to Carrie Underwood’s ex. Marianne kept moving a single primrose petal between her fingers, rubbing its softness against her skin until it began to adhere. So far she hadn’t seen anything unnatural revealed. She pushed through the gate, holding her breath, but nothing changed.

As she approached the house she noticed the clouds gathering on the horizon. Funny, since the forecast had been all about sunshine. Lizzie had implied the folk had some influence on the weather. Maybe the king had noticed her approach after all.

She took the key from her pocket, unlocked the front door and then stuck it straight back into said pocket. No pixy savior necessary on this visit, or so she hoped. The doors swung open the same way they always did. Really, if not for the proof on her skin and Lizzie’s words, Marianne would start doubting what she’d seen last night.

“Hello, darling,” she murmured to the house, fingers brushing against the door as she walked into the entrance hall. These were the same walls she loved, the floor she’d cleaned. She marched through the corridor beneath the stairs to the doors of the ballroom. The sword she’d used to defend herself had been placed back on the wall.

To her shame, it was only then that she wondered if her pixy friends were all right. What if they’d suffered for helping her? Marianne quickly stuck that on her list of things to negotiate and opened the doors to the ballroom.

The light from the front doors let her see where the flashlight had gone spinning off to and she scooped it off the floor. She wasn’t surprised to find the battery dead, quickly fishing out the replacements she’d packed and sliding them into place. Marianne flipped on the light and went about examining the crime scene. Her purse and robe were still on the ground. The marks she’d made in the dust on the floor while dancing obscured a lot of the action but there was a giant footprint resting just in front of the mirror where she’d nearly been snatched. She leaned down to study it. The dimensions seemed more primate than insect.

Finally she went to her iPod speakers and confirmed what she’d feared when she’d first looked over her belongings. The speakers were there but her iPod was conspicuously absent. She bit her tongue to hold back the cursing. There was no way in hell she was letting her meticulously organized iPod stay in the hands of a freakishly tall kidnapper.

The natural light was dimming all the time so Marianne quickly shoved the speakers back into her purse and poured a large circle of salt in front of the mirror where everything went so badly wrong. She sat down in its center, putting the salt container at her knee and sticking her left hand into the canvas bag to mingle with the primroses.

Uncertain about whether the folk could come out properly during cloudy weather and with several hours to go before sunset, Marianne took the opportunity to search her purse. Her phone was undisturbed but for some reason her chapstick was missing. The cards in her wallet were askew. Still, nothing missing. She supposed she could let the chapstick go if she got her iPod back in one piece. Marianne set her purse to the side and began staring intently at the mirror, waiting for the first clue that she wasn’t alone.

The boredom set in immediately. She tapped the fingers of her free hand against the flashlight, watching for something to move in the mirror that wasn’t her. Seconds dragged by like months and Marianne found herself clicking her tongue to fill the silence. God, she hated when people did that. It was the worst sound. She stopped, annoyed.

This would have been the perfect time to break out her iPod but thanks to a certain jackass royal that wasn’t an option. What a low blow. Not enough to be assaulted and near-kidnapped, she had to have her things stolen, too. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. Well, she was the one with the salt now and she’d be the one rubbing wounds… Wait, what?

“Maybe don’t open with that,” she grumbled, rolling her shoulders to work out the tension. Marianne needed to be levelheaded for her plan. The quickest route to failure would be to start frothing at the mouth. She’d just expected to be confronted by now.

The imp had implied that some of the writing on the folk and their relationship to music was true. They were drawn to human music, which made sense. Her pixy friends had been delighted with her singing and the attack had come when she shut off the music. If she remembered correctly, and given last night’s drama she very well might not, she’d cut off Gin Wigmore’s _If Only._ She hummed the beginning of the song and scanned the mirror for any sign of movement.

Of course, a far more appropriate song would be Gin’s _Kill of the Night_. Sadly Marianne guessed that singing about how she wanted to ‘taste the way that you bleed’ would get them off on the wrong foot. But she was also sure she’d punched the king in the face so how much worse could it get? She launched into the chorus with enthusiasm, tapping her flashlight along to the beat.

It would have been very easy to lose focus grooving to the tune in her head. And she let it look that way, relaxing her posture and rocking her head to the rhythm. The second she let her eyes drift closed a chill breeze raked across her face. She felt the neat line of salt around her scatter across the floor and under her legs. In hindsight, she probably should have seen that coming.

Then came the rustling of insect wings and Marianne launched herself away from the useless circle. Considering the scrape of claws just across her head, it had been a good decision. As she rolled to her feet she tugged loose the fire poker from her belt and spun with it extended out.

The creature that had menaced her last night was bearing down on her. Now he froze, hovering in the air with an iron poker right under his nose. The way his eyes crossed slightly as he looked at it made him real to Marianne. She didn’t let her gaze stray from his face, although without her flashlight spinning out of control it would be much easier to study him. If this little standoff went well, she’d look to her heart’s content. Just then she only noticed how triangular and sharp his face was with that pointed chin, dagger-like nose and high cheekbones. The gray of his skin made his shockingly blue eyes all the more pronounced.

She quickly darted a look at the staff in his hand. Getting hit with that thing would put her down hard. She didn’t fancy her chances dueling with an immortal.  Thankfully her plan was more subtle than that.

Marianne looked the Unseelie King in the eye and grinned. “Was it something I sang?”


	7. Take It for a Game

Marianne dropped to her knees to duck the anticipated blow, the force of the staff ruffling her hair as it passed overhead. Next she had to use both hands to lift the poker and block the strike that would have caved in her skull. When the iron made contact with the alien metal of the King’s staff, it sounded like cold water hissing against a heated skillet. Her eyes assessed the breadth of his majesty’s shoulders as the power bearing down against her weapon began to force her backwards. At this rate he would snap her in half without breaking a sweat.

Between the scant inches separating their faces, a thin wisp of smoke rose from where their weapons met. It didn’t comfort her. If the King wasn’t worried about his staff deteriorating, then she doubted the effect of the iron upon it would be quick enough to save her. His hovering position also made attack difficult, as most of him was out of range. Not that kicking one of his armored kneecaps had been all that appealing an option in the first place but she would have appreciated the chance. Nope, it was time to run her mouth.

Despite the burning pain in Marianne’s arms as she tried to keep him back, she managed a wink. “No sense of humor and bad manners. Not a great combination.”

“Mortal wretch,” he snarled into her face and she would be lying if she said the sight of his jagged teeth didn’t make her want to run. Good thing she was on her knees.

She feigned a wince. “Oh, hitting me where it hurts.” Her next wince was genuine as her left palm began to sting. It felt like some of the deeper scratches had reopened and the primrose petals that had adhered to her skin were being forced into the wounds.

Oh hey, _there_ was an idea. She straightened her fingers to reveal the macabre floral arrangement on her skin. His eyes focused on the bright splashes of pink, a touch of wariness forcing back the anger. Marianne used that moment of distraction to fall back until her shoulders touched the floor then swung her legs free from the kneeling position. The sudden lack of resistance against his staff had the King falling forward. Top heavy as he was with massive armored shoulders and a broad chest, it took several wingbeats for him to correct himself. In that time Marianne had already rolled out from beneath him and regained her feet.

As he turned to look at her, Marianne flung her petal-encrusted hand into the king’s face and watched with satisfaction as he zipped back several feet. She slowly curled her fingers into a fist. “Something tells me if I hit you with this you wouldn’t shrug it off. So let’s make an effort to keep things civil.”

He sneered and used the ornate head of his staff to point at her. “You trespass on my land and expect civility.”

“You trespassed in my house,” she snapped.

The King flew closer, stopping only when Marianne lifted the poker to his face and forced him back. The strange, bark-like things on his face that appeared to serve for eyebrows were pinched close between his eyes as he glared at her. “This is _not_ your house.”

“My father legally purchased this property so I think you’ll find you’re mistaken,” she said.

He let out a growl of frustration, shifting his weapon to his left hand. With his right he made a gesture that encompassed the room. “This ‘property’ was never for sale!”

Marianne rolled her eyes. “Oh, fantastic! That means I must not be here and this whole conversation is a figment of your imagination.”

That statement seemed to catch him off guard. His wings went still and he dropped to the ground, confirming Marianne’s suspicion that he was at least seven feet tall.

“What?” he asked.

She noticed his accent got thicker when he was uncertain. Marianne swung the poker up to rest against her shoulder like an axe and shrugged. “Well, that is the essence of your argument. The total negation of reality.”

His thin, wide lips curled up in disdain. “ _Reality_ ,” he spat. “You have not even known of my kind’s existence for a full day and yet you would lecture me on the subject.”

Marianne didn’t grin so much as bare her teeth. “Funny you should mention that. If I didn’t know you were here, then how could I possibly know I was trespassing?” The King’s eyes flicked away from her face and she knew she had him. “Makes your accusations just a touch insincere, doesn’t it?”

He sputtered. “Ignorance of the law is not - ”

“I’m not ignorant of the law!” she interrupted. “We have breaking and entering in the mortal world, too. But we generally recognize you can’t trespass in a house that you fucking _own_.” She watched the slow downward curl of his shoulders and took a few steps towards him. He jerked back with surprise. “So I think the more relevant point here is why you allowed the house to be put up for sale in the first place.”

A croaky, high-pitched voice whispered from the mirror, “Well, she’s not wrong.”

A much deeper, gruffer voice hissed, “Shut up!”

Marianne blinked a few times. The king looked up to the ceiling and if the folk believed in a higher power he might have been imploring it for help. The strangely human way his face moved was so surreal compared to the rest of him.

“Friends of yours?” she asked.

“Subjects, not friends,” he corrected. Then he heaved a disgusted sigh and banged his staff against the floor. A wave of light moved through the marble, up the mirrors and into the chandeliers. Suddenly the ballroom was awash with light and she could see him perfectly. The temptation to study the way his gray-brown barky armor fit together was very distracting. Luckily two goblins tumbled out of the mirrors and she didn’t get caught staring.

She had zero issues labeling these creatures goblins. They fit the stereotype in her mind perfectly. The taller of them, which only meant it came up to her knee, looked like a miniature creature from the black lagoon with green amphibian skin and a rounded belly. The smaller one was slimmer with a frog-like head, minus the fangs. Its skin had earthier tones than its friend. It was also holding her iPod in its webbed fingers.

“Sorry for the interruption, sire,” the tall goblin said in its gruff voice. Clearly this was the more circumspect of the pair.

The smaller one darted up to its king.  “You said you’d only be a moment and, well, it’s been several moments and we thought - ”

“ _You_ thought,” its companion said, crossing its arms with a superior air.

The iPod thief winced.  “My mistake.  _I_ thought your majesty might need a hand fetching the lad.”

The King let out a groan that indicated he wished to be very far away from this conversation as he looked away from the pair of goblins.  Meanwhile the tall goblin had covered its eyes with a hand. 

Marianne frowned.  “Lad?”

The tall goblin dropped its hand and gave her what appeared to be an apologetic smile.  “Sorry, milady.”  Then it slapped the back of its companion’s head.  “How many times do we have to go over this?”

The little one whined, rubbing its skull.  “But the hair!  And the trousers!”

It had thought she was a boy?  Marianne looked down at herself.  She knew she was slender but her figure had never been taken for boyish. 

The tall goblin took a few tentative steps toward her and she resisted the urge to swing the poker towards it.  So far the newcomers hadn’t been dangerous to anything but her self-esteem.  It made a helpless gesture towards her.  “Don’t take it personal, milady.  Took him centuries to figure out I was a girl.  He’s a slow one.”

Marianne studied the goblin and wondered if there were traditional feminine markers for her kind and she just wasn’t seeing them.  On the up side, at least now she knew the folk had a concept of gender.  That did leave the question of why there’d been confusion regarding her own sex.  “No problem,” she told the lady-goblin.  “But why would the pants make him think...?”  Then it clicked. 

The mansion had been built hundreds of years ago when the fashions were considerably different.  Even just a century ago seeing someone in pants would have been a pretty good guarantee as to what gender they were, although there were always outliers.  Dawn would have been able to tell Marianne when the fashions had changed.  She had a better head for history.  Still, she knew something important now.  “It’s been a while since you’ve all seen a human woman around here, hasn’t it?”

The short goblin looked like he wanted to answer her but the King cleared his throat and glared down at his two subjects.  Neither of them made a peep.  Not that it mattered at that point.  A century of separation from the mortal world at minimum meant that they had no clue how to operate her iPod. 

She smiled down at them.  “They’re making us a little different these days.”

“I noticed,” the King said.  His eyes swept over her and the dream she’d had about claws on her body slipped back into her thoughts.  She swallowed.  Gently stroking the petals stuck to her palm didn’t shake off that prickling sensation along her skin so it probably wasn’t magic, just her.

He wasn’t trying to flirt with her, was he?  Ageless, unknowable beings probably didn’t flirt with college students.

The goblin holding her iPod looked between them as though trying to understand the silence before appealing to his King.  “Does that mean you need help, sire?”

He rolled his eyes.  “No!”

“Of course not, sire.  We’ll leave you to it,” the lady-goblin said quickly, pushing her companion back towards the mirror. 

“Wait!” Marianne said.  She liked her chances at success much better with those two serving as a distraction for the King.  They were also running off with her bargaining chip.  “What are you going to do with my iPod?”

That question earned her three blank stares but the King recovered first.  “Your what?” he asked.

Oh God, it was going to be like explaining cars to time travelers.  “The rectangle with the music in it.”  She pointed at her iPod, which probably would have been the path of least resistance in the first place.

The lady-goblin studied the iPod with a confused look.  “It’s a pod?”

“So for the sound you crack it open?” the short goblin asked.

Marianne’s heart seized.  “No!”

To her relief, the lady-goblin quickly confiscated the iPod from her friend’s webbed hands.  “Numbskull,” she hissed.

“It’s the logical next step after threatening it!” he protested.

Marianne could feel the beginnings of a headache behind her eyes.  “You threatened an inanimate object?”

He shuffled his feet before mumbling, “Didn’t know it was inanimate.”

The lady-goblin came closer to her with the iPod held out in her hand.  “We fiddled with its buttons - ”

In a dramatic sweep, the King’s staff came down in front of the approaching goblin.  “Stuff!” he growled.  “Take Thang and return to court.”

Stuff, which was apparently the lady-goblin’s name and not just a random exclamation, quickly retreated to Thang’s side.  “Right away, sire!”

Before they could skip off back through the mirror, Marianne baited the trap.  “Just don’t put it in water.”

Thang paused.  “Why not?”

“Oh, you’ll kill it,” she said with a casual shrug.  The thought of her music collection essentially going up in smoke made her borderline homicidal but as Stuff had frozen with the iPod in hand she managed to check that urge.  If she played this right she wouldn’t have to spend weeks desperately rebuilding her playlists.  Or kidnapped.  That last one was also important.

The King swung to to look at her and the way his limbs and armor shifted with him was fascinating.  “You just got through telling us the contraption is not alive.”

She grinned.  “Ah.  So you’re interested.”

There was a tense pause, made less tense by the sound of Stuff and Thang scurrying over to stand behind their King.  Their eyes were intent upon the proceedings. 

His majesty was giving her a distinctly suspicious look.  “Perhaps.”

“I could fix it for you.”

Thang bounced excitedly.  “That would be - !”  The King abruptly knocked Thang over with his staff.  The goblin hit the floor and his next words were muffled.  “Unnecessary.  We can fix it.”

“Time is on our side,” the King informed her.

“The battery’s not.”

He blinked at her.  “Battery?”

“And then there’s the password issue,” Marianne said.  She felt a little smug when the three otherworldly creatures stared down at her iPod as though it were an incomprehensible mystery. 

Stuff turned it over in her hands.  “Then it does understand words?”

“It’s more like a key to open up the music.  I could unlock it for you,” Marianne told them.  She met the King’s eye.  “With incentive.”

He laughed.  The rich sound echoed around them as he took flight and landed only inches from her face.  She looked up into his face, fingers tightening on the poker but not moving it from its position at her shoulder.  He was holding his weapon to the side and she’d begun to understand the way the armor over his shoulders slotted together.  They flexed with him, layered into sharp points like artichoke leaves.  Unlike artichokes, these particular leaves shifted and betrayed intent.  Marianne felt comfortable waiting for her opponent to telegraph his move before bringing her weapon down.

The King looked down his nose at her and she could tell he was pleased by how she had to crane her neck back to keep eye contact.  His lips curled in a nasty grin.  “Are you trying to bargain with me?”

“Music in exchange for safe passage,” she said.  His chuckles were off-putting but she continued.  “We’ll have to hammer out the details.  I’m not interested in finding out how you define ‘safe passage’ through trial and error.”

Interestingly, when she mentioned details she saw some of the smugness go out of his eyes.  She wondered if he thought she was unaware of the reputation his people had surrounding deals.  Be careful what you wish for, indeed.

Marianne noted the shift in the arm that held the staff and ruled out running away.  He was planning on tripping her.  It stung that his first assumption was that she’d flee but evasion had been her one and only tactic so far.  Time to mix it up.

“Oh Marianne,” he said, his tone very much like it had been the night before when his voice had eased over her muscles like a warm bath.  With the petals in her hand it wasn’t nearly as effective.  The King’s shoulders flared briefly as he curled over and around her, only a breath away from touching her body.  “I’ve enjoyed your efforts but there is nothing you could offer me that would outweigh the value of what I can simply take.”

“Take, yes,” she agreed.  She didn’t have any illusions there.  “But simple?”

Marianne took a breath and prayed she’d worked this out right in her head.  His head lowered towards her as his knees bent.  She knew step two was whisking her off her feet and into the mirror.  As a decoy, she began to move her right hand as though she intended to ward him off with the poker.  His free hand seized her wrist and she refused to be distracted by how oddly slick his skin felt, more satin than flesh.

He must have seen the way her muscles had tensed but, of course, he was expecting retreat.  Instead she used his arm to lever herself up and leaped onto him, wincing a little when her legs caught on the sharp points of his hip bones.  They curved up into spikes and were impossible to avoid at this angle.

The King grunted at the sudden weight against his chest.  His knees bent, the hand holding the staff moved behind her back automatically to steady her and thus making it impossible to get the room to truly hurt her.  Marianne quickly looked to where his armor grew up and away from the vulnerable skin of his neck.

She thrust her petal-coated hand up and gripped his throat.  The instant the primroses made contact with the King’s flesh, they began to sizzle against her palm.  For her, there was no pain.  It was like licking her fingers to put out a candle.  She was aware of the heat but there was no sting.

This was not the case for the Unseelie King.

He let out a pained roar.  Thang and Stuff were shouting from beneath them but Marianne couldn’t make out what they were saying over the pounding of her heart in her ears.  The King had no choice but to release the hand holding the iron poker or to drop his own weapon.  The clang of the staff as it hit the marble was deafening.  She pressed as close to his chest as she could, hoping the angle would be too awkward for him to grip her throat in return with the construction of his shoulder.  That left her staring into his face, watching the pain and rage burn in his eyes.

Then his hands gripped the back of her sweater as he forcibly wrenched her off of him.  Luckily he let go of her wrist when she fell back to the ground.  Unluckily, she landed square on his staff.  Her back screamed in protest but it didn’t stop her from making a quick swipe with her poker to ward off Stuff and Thang.  Next thing she knew the King had fallen upon her, hands pinning her arms to the floor as his wings flicked angrily above them.  The skin on his neck was blistered in a rough approximation of her handprint.

“You _dare_ ,” he roared into her face.

“Yes I do!” she roared straight back.  It startled him into a moment of silence and Marianne immediately took advantage.  “You’re a fucking hypocrite.  Flying in here like the world’s grumpiest cricket, bitching about how wronged you are and what a _mortal wretch_ I am.  And all the time you’re either trying to kill or kidnap me.  Bruise and batter me to oblivion but God forbid I give you some of your own back.”

He stared down at her and she could see the disbelief working its way around the corners of his rage.  “What in all creation is _wrong_ with you, woman?” he demanded.

“Is that just a general question or did you want a list?”

The armored leaves of his shoulders flared out and for a second Marianne thought he might smile.  He tensed his jaw, the grinding of his teeth audible. 

She tilted her head to the side.  “At random I’d say stubbornness is one of the primary things wrong with me.  So when I tell you that if you drag me off to your world I’ll spend the rest of my prolonged existence looking to put a knife in your back, you know it’s a promise.”

He sneered.  “Humans are malleable.  In a decade you would forget.”

“Sure, you’ve been able to predict my behavior so well thus far.  I’m not surprised at your confidence.”  Marianne waited a moment for that to sink in then continued.  “In any case, you better plan on spending those ten years with one eye open at all times.  I only need to get lucky once.”

“You would have us be enemies then?”

“No, I’d have us be neighbors.”

He jerked back, grip on her arms loosening.  She briefly considered pulling free but she wanted him to trust her word here.  Appearing harmless couldn’t hurt.  His eyebrows pulled together in a frown as he searched her face.  “Neighbors?”

“I think with a little negotiating we could manage to live together in relative harmony.  You can be the grump who lives downstairs and is always after me with noise complaints.  In a completely vague example not at all taken from real life,” she said.

He continued to stare at her.  She cleared her throat and shifted under him.  His staff was going to be permanently tattooed into her back at this rate.  They needed to move this along.  “How about this?  I promise that as long as you make no move to attack or abduct me, and you don’t allow anyone else to do those things either, then I will not physically attack you.”

For a moment the air went completely still and Marianne couldn’t breathe.  The King’s eyes seemed to glow.  “A pact with me cannot be broken, Marianne,” he said and she could hear him from a thousand places at once.  “I will hold you to every word.”

All at once she could breathe again.  She took deep gulps of air and felt profoundly grateful she’d added the ‘physically’ bit to her side.  There were far too many ways to interpret attack on its own.  He could have been able to nab her for name-calling.

“Gotcha,” she told him.  “Mind letting me up now?”

Finally he let go of her arms and took flight, landing a few feet away.  She peeled herself off the ground and stuck the poker back into its place on her belt.  While Stuff and Thang dragged the King’s staff over to him, she worked at the angry muscles in her back.  Cleaning the mansion tomorrow was going to be a real bitch.  After a minute she noticed the King’s eyes were still fixed on her and he was holding his staff in front of his body, almost as though he were crouching behind it.  The uncertainty and suspicion in his face were clear as day.

What they really needed was a fresh start.  She straightened up and stuck the hand with a few mangled petals still glued to her wounds in her pocket.  Discarding the idea of a polite smile, those were her worst, she crossed the few feet separating them and stuck out her hand.  “Let’s start with introductions.  My name is Marianne Fairfield.  It’s nice to meet you...?”  She waited.

The King examined her outstretched hand as though it might bite him.  Considering the livid impression her other hand had left on his neck, she couldn’t blame him.  At last he reached out and his long, clawed fingers engulfed her hand.  It left her feeling absolutely tiny in comparison.  Then he gave a stiff bow.  “I am the Bog King.”

Marianne sighed.  “Of course you are.”  Fucking everything was called bog around here.  “So should I refer to you as ‘your majesty’ or does just Bog work?”  BK might be too casual this early in their acquaintance.

“Bog,” he confirmed.  They both realized at once that they were still shaking hands.  He abruptly let go and cleared his throat.  “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.”  She rubbed her fingers together and thought about how weirdly smooth he’d felt.  “Actually, do you mind if I take a look at that?”

“Er... Well, I - ”  Bog hadn’t granted her permission but she was already reaching out for his hand.  She turned it palm up and studied his gray-toned skin.  He didn’t have fingerprints.  There were lines where his fingers and palm bent but no whorls or ridges in his flesh.

“Wow,” she said.  “That’s fascinating.”

“Fascinating?”

“Your skin doesn’t have ridges.”  Marianne looked up at his face.  There was more alarm there now than when she’d stuck an iron poker under his nose.  She let go.  “Sorry, that was rude.”

He shook his head.  “No matter.”  Bog flexed his fingers out and Marianne hoped she hadn’t offended him. 

“Really, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

He waved her off.  “Curiosity.  Very natural.”  Bog’s eyes darted around the room and he cleared his throat again.  She wondered if he had something stuck in there.  “We should sit and... and talk.  Discuss the finer points of this neighbor business.”  He met her eyes, nodded and then quickly strode through the ballroom’s open doors. 

She watched him go.  For a moment she thought she’d seen a blush rising on the Bog King’s face.


	8. Know One Thing

Bogach Mansion had a very nice dining room.  Marianne hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it yet but she’d admired it on her self-guided tour of the house.  Beautiful gold arches broke up the dark, forest-themed wallpaper and the chandeliers here had giant, tear-shaped crystals that poured from the ceiling like a waterfall.  The mahogany dining table looked as though it could comfortably seat eighty people, which was a bit of a suprise to her as the last time she’d seen it she thought it would only seat fifty.  It was also somehow miraculously clean of dust and brimming with food and wine.

Still, that wasn’t really the biggest surprise.  Marianne was still hung up on the fact that she’d walked through the ballroom doors and straight into the dining room, a feat that should have been impossible.  Last she’d checked the dining room had been to the left of the mansion’s front doors.

She adjusted the strap of her bag, heavier now that she’d also stuck her reclaimed purse inside it.  Stuff and Thang didn’t appear surprised to find the dining room in a completely different place and she hated to break her cool-mortal-who-rolls-with-magical-punches persona.  But...  No, she had to know.

Marianne turned to Stuff.  “Did you guys move the dining room?  Because I could have sworn it wasn’t here before.”

“Oh no, the rooms have always moved about,” Stuff said with a shrug.  “You just couldn’t see it.”

She considered this.  There were still primrose petals stuck with blood to her palm and then of course the petals pinned in her hair.  The folk’s magic would apparently just flow over her like water while she was protected.  So before today, at any point when she’d been walking from one room to another in the mansion the architecture could have completely shifted and she wouldn’t have perceived it.  Well, that was unsettling.  And what would she do if it happened with Dawn and Sunny in the house?  She’d be seeing a different reality from theirs and wouldn’t know to lie.

Maybe the house only moved at night.  The sun had set at this point, she could see through the windows on her left.  Heavy red velvet drapes rustled as she walked past them and she thought she heard whispers.  Hell, she probably was hearing whispers.  Who knew how many more of Bog’s subjects had crept up from beneath to eavesdrop?

Speaking of Bog, his majesty had settled at the far end of the room in a chair that was certainly not part of this particular dining set.  This chair was massive, made of bone and really had more a throne aesthetic than the rest of the more delicate wooden chairs.  With wings involved she guessed more specialized seating arrangements were necessary.  She noticed his staff propped up behind him and appreciated its absence from his hand.  However, the closer she got the more she saw that the chair pulled out on his right put her at a serious height disadvantage.  She’d be craning her neck to make eye contact and he damn well knew it if his smirk was any indication.

To hell with that.

When he gestured magnamimously to her intended seat, she smiled, shoved a plate of food out of her way and hopped up onto the table.  He jerked back to avoid touching her.  She propped her left foot up on his armrest and let her right hang down between his outspread legs.  At the last minute she felt a little guilty about invading his personal space and tossed her bag onto the chair behind her so that her salt containers and spare petals were out of reach.  Besides, her poker was still dangling beside her right leg.  She’d be fine.

Once she turned back to look at him, she caught the wide-eyed bewildered stare he was giving her before he managed to hide it.  He likely wasn’t used to people violating his personal space.  At least now they could both look comfortably into each other’s eyes without any neck injuries.

“Hey neighbor,” she said.

He leaned far back on his chair-throne and stared at her as if she had the potential to explode.  Given the still-livid handprint on his neck she could admit he had a point.  Bog cleared his throat.  “Hello?”

“So this magically clean table trick,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder to said spotless, polished table.  “Should I start crying over the wasted hours of manual labor I’ve already put in - ”

“It’s temporary!”

She jumped at the hasty, desperate reassurance.  He was peering at her face with alarm and she realized he was actually worried she would start crying.  Shit, maybe she should have turned on the waterworks to begin with and then no one would be bruised or burned.

“No, sorry, I was just kidding.  I mean, it would have been frustrating as all hell to find out I didn’t need to do any of the work I’d already put in but I try to save crying for the really awful days,” she said.

Bog nodded, the armored leaves at his shoulders relaxing back into place.  “That’s good, then.  Wise.”

“Er, great?”  This was getting really awkward and she didn’t know how to undo that.  She began picking the petals out of the abrasions in her hand just so she didn’t have to keep looking at him.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Ah, so they were getting into that subject then.  She kept her eyes down, slowly unpealing the primroses and ignoring the sting.  “I’m a bit peckish.  It’ll wait until I’m somewhere I can eat the food without being trapped in an alternate dimension.”

Thang let out a tiny distressed squeak in the distance, quickly followed by Stuff hissing at him to shut up.  Marianne pretended she didn’t sense the intense burn of Bog’s gaze on her scalp.  She leaned away to deposit a few bloody petals into her purse. 

“You’re very well-informed.”

“Not by anyone in the village, if that’s your concern.”  She straightened up and met his suspicious glare.  “And don’t worry, I don’t see you offering me food as an attempt at abduction.  You aren’t forcing me, after all.”

He tapped his claws against his chair and Marianne could feel the rhythm through her boot.  “You would have to choose to eat it.  Force would render it useless.”

She looked behind her at the ridiculously lavish spread of fruit, meats and vegetables.  Every piece of food looked as though it would be the most sumptuous morsel she would ever taste.  Her eyes caught on a simple peach and she could smell it, feel the promise of sweet honey and joy on her tongue.  “Really?  Would it turn to ash or something?”

“Or _something_ ,” he said.

“Hm.  In that case I think we should put a rule in place that you won’t coerce anyone into eating food from your realm.”  She smiled at the frustrated growl that rumbled behind her. 

“You ask a great deal of me.”

Marianne turned back to him with a skeptical frown.  “Do I?  All I want is safety for me and mine.”

He tilted his head.  She had the chance to notice that the way his scalp was formed had a lot of similarities to a tightly-closed artichoke when he said, “As do I.”

“And kidnapping me was going to do that... how?”

“It’s how we traditionally punish mortal hubris,” Bog said.  Then with a casual wave of his hand the food on the table vanished, leaving only a pitcher of wine and a goblet.  “I would offer...”

She nodded.  “Very polite of you.  Answer’s still no.”

“I thought as much.”  He reached around her for the goblet and drained it in one go.  Suddenly Thang leapt up beside her to grab the pitcher.  He began to fill Bog’s goblet as his majesty’s attention returned to her.  “Your father did not seek my permission before claiming this property.  You would have been the price of his trespass.”

“As we’ve established it would have been impossible for him to know he needed your permission, let’s just skip over that,” Marianne said.  “I would like your permission to stay.  Will you grant it?”

“To what end?”

“Good question,” she admitted.  One she couldn’t really answer.  Her father could go either way on this property and she doubted Bog would be amused by drastic remodeling.  She could already envision the nightmare of persuading him to allow her to install electricity.  Any aesthetic changes would probably go over like a pregnant polevaulter.  Marianne would have to lobby very, very hard to protect the integrity of Bogach Mansion.

But all of those decisions were a whole summer away.  “I think we should revisit that later.  Say, late August?”

Bog stared at her blankly and Thang spilled the wine.  Stuff was immediately present on the floor, mopping up the puddle and glaring in Thang’s direction.

“Staying on a permanent basis, I mean,” Mariane clarified.  “For now I’d just like to be able to tidy up the place without worrying about you turning up to ask if something smells like chloroform to me.”

“Smells like _what_?”

She waved her injured hand at him.  “Never mind.  Pop culture reference, I’ll catch you up at some point.

“Does it have to do with what an STI is?” Thang asked.

Marianne’s jaw dropped.  “What?”

Bog’s eyes rolled skyward and he drained his goblet a second time.  Marianne almost wished she could join him.  Thang stared at her with an eager expression while she tried to figure out when he’d heard...  Oh, crap.  Her fight with Roland.

Stuff waved up at her from the floor.  “You said it to the whiny blonde man.  Thang thought you said something like ant’s tea thighs at first and I had to correct him.  Now he’s obsessed.”

“Well, STI isn’t a word, is it?” Thang said.  “Just letters.  Unless it’s code!”

Marianne stared up at the ceiling.  It was a good ceiling, even nicer with the lights on in the chandeliers.  She yearned for the lights to blind her so she could smoothly change the subject.  “The letters stand for sexually transmitted infections.”  All eyes turned to her but she refused to look back.  She was still hoping for spontaneous blindness.

“Oh,” Thang said.  “And you get them from something called a TA?”

Marianne absolutely refused to make eye contact with Bog.  The chandeliers had betrayed her by sparing her sight so she stared down at her left palm instead.  “Any hope that these scratches might suddenly kill me?” she muttered under her breath.

There was an abrupt, piercing whistle that shook the glass in the windows.  Marianne recoiled and stared at Bog.  He grimaced.  “I apologize.  It’s the only reliable method of summoning I know for the damned creatures.”

Stuff had forcefully pulled Thang off of the table and their whispered argument was almost loud enough to cover the sound of birdsong.  The three ladies who had aided in her escape the night before erupted from behind the curtains and flew to her side.  Marianne smiled at their eager flutterings.  They made distressed sounds in response, zipping from one injured hand to the other and plucking at her clothes to inspect her bruises.

“Oh, hello there.  You three been keeping out of trouble?”  They whistled the chorus to _Shadows of the Night_ and Marianne chuckled.  “Taking that as a no.”

Bog grunted.  “Your handmaidens have been singing that little tune incessantly.”

“It’s their favorite.  Don’t know why.”  She’d been studying the teeny, tiny fangs of the not-bird ladies when his words registered.  “Wait, handmaidens?”

“You fed them,” Bog told her.  “They’re your problem now.”

The - certainly not _her_ \- handmaidens began dabbing at the dried blood in her palms with their petal dresses.  Marianne shook her head.  “I don’t need handmaidens.”  What were they even for?

“All evidence to the contrary,” Bog said.  He set his empty goblet on the table, avoiding the tiny creatures set on tending her wounds. 

“But how do I take care of them?”

He stilled, blue eyes darting to her face.  “What?”

“Do they need special food?” Marianne asked.  She was started to feel a little frantic.  “Should they be coming home with me?  Have I been neglecting them?  _What do I do_?”

The handmaidens let out a chorus of distressed trills.  The green one flew up to her face and gently cuddled her cheek.  Guilt just about crushed Marianne.  “Whoa hey, I’m fine.  No reason to worry.”

“Of course there is.  You were having some sort of fit,” Bog argued.

The green lady hugged her face tighter.  Marianne shot him a fierce glare while cooing gently to the handmaidens.  “Just ignore him, sweethearts.  Everything’s perfectly fine.”

Bog opened his mouth and Marianne had to fight really hard not to kick him and break their truce.  Instead she hissed, “Would you stop picking on the poor things?”

He sputtered.  “Poor things?  They have claws!  They could bite through bone with those teeth.”

It was difficult to glare while trying to give a tiny flying pixie creature butterfly kisses but Marianne made the effort.  “And according to you, they’re _mine_.  I don’t care if they’re dripping with the blood of their enemies, you’re not going to bully them with me in the room.”

He searched her face, for what she didn’t know.  She wondered if he’d found it when he slumped back in his chair.  Bog shook his head, wings twitching.  “You actually mean that, don’t you?”

“Every word,” she said.  Then the green lady finally let go of her face and set to work with her friends on Marianne’s hands.  A strange tingling had started in her skin but it didn’t hurt so she decided to trust their judgment.

“In that case, you needn’t worry for them,” Bog told her.  “They take care of themselves.  And you, now.”

The three handmaidens flew up to hover around her head, leaving Marianne to inspect their work.  Not only were the scratches on her hands closed, they’d almost completely faded.  The tingle she’d felt had been her skin knitting back together.  She let out an impressed whistle.  “Now there’s a neat trick.”

Plus it told her primrose petals wouldn’t protect her from applied potions.  That was important.

“Trifles,” Bog said.  Then with a flick of his wings their faces were inches apart.  Marianne instinctively pressed her right leg back to keep the poker from touching him by mistake.  The blue of his eyes glowed, both harsh and warm at once.  She wondered what she would be feeling if there weren’t petals in her hair.  She took the opportunity to study his face again, looking over the sharp points of his ears and the thorns that served as stubble on his chin.  The purr of his voice rolled over her, possibly the only gentle thing about him.  “You could have more than trifles, Marianne.”

She felt a pang in her heart.  “Like trust?”

The glow of his eyes died.  They looked mostly human then, shaded with confusion.  Bog pulled away from her and Marianne shook her head, smiling against the sadness.  Trust was the only magic she couldn’t have these days.  “Thought that might be a reach,” she said.  “Let’s aim for understanding.”

“Understanding?”

“Take the summer to decide if you want mortals in your house on a more permanent basis,” she said.

Bog looked down his nose at her.  “How generous of you.”

Marianne rolled her eyes.  “And _in exchange_ I’ll do what I can to catch you up on what’s been happening in my world.  Music, food, history.  Whatever you want to know.”

He took a moment to consider that before asking, “The food’s changed?”

She grinned.  “Oh, just a lot.  Although now that I think about it salt might be an issue there.”  Shit, so much was processed these days.  Her handmaidens hadn’t been poisoned by what she’d fed them but she should really start keeping an eye on how much sodium was in the food she carted up to the mansion.

Bog leaned back in his chair, one hand curled on the armrest where her boot was still propped up.  “It is not just my consideration you want,” he reminded her.  “Free reign to move through my property, safe passage - ”

“For me _and_ mine,” she added.

“Would Roland be included?”

Marianne gagged.  She’d need a thorough shower to get the stain of calling Roland one of her people out of her brain.  This must be why the term ‘necessary evil’ had been invented.  “Oh God, he’d have to be, wouldn’t he?  Too many questions if he just vanished up here.”

“Yes, about questions...”  Bog gave her a significant look and Marianne wasn’t slow, she got where he was aiming.

“No one can know about all this,” she said.  “I’d prefer Dawn didn’t know and that means keeping it from Sunny.”  Maybe Marianne was being an overbearing big sister but the thought of Dawn falling into Bog’s world and wandering around with her trusting heart was the stuff of nightmares.  “Regardless, the protection I negotiate for myself would also apply to them.”

Bog tilted his head in acknowledgement then held out his hand to her.  “I accept your offer.”

Marianne blinked.  She hadn’t thought they were that close to a compromise.  “Wait, you’re saying yes?  To everything I just asked for?”

“Yes,” Bog said, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.

Her eyes narrowed.  “Including the no coercing my people or me into eating or drinking anything from your world?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bog said again.  The smile had died but his hand was still out, waiting for her agreement. 

Marianne wasn’t quite there yet.  “No attacking, no kidnapping - ”

“No theft of _my_ property,” Bog interrupted.  He stared unblinking into her eyes and she felt a chill creep up her back.  “Nothing of mine goes past the gates.”

She fought the urge to gulp, nodding instead.  “And no one from your side reveals themselves.”

“Until I make my decision in August,” Bog concluded.

“We’ll revisit the arrangement then.  Gotcha.”  Marianne finally gripped his hand and somehow this deal felt different than the one they’d made in the ballroom.  Something like static electricity danced between their palms.  She cleared her throat before carefully picking her words.  “I agree to those terms.”

“In that case you have your safe passage.”

Marianne continued to stare at him.  “And?” she prompted.

He sighed.  “And so do your people.”

Relief flooded her and she warmly squeezed his hand.  It was on the tip of her tongue to offer thanks before she bit the sentiment back.  Saying thank you was the same as admitting a debt with the folk.  She would need to kick that habit and fast.  Marianne searched for something neutral to say.  “I appreciate that.”

Bog nodded, a knowing curl to his smile.  “I’m certain you do.”

The light drag of his claws against her skin reminded Marianne that they were still holding hands.  “We’re making a habit of this,” she said.  Strange that she didn’t feel the urge to pull back.  Was it because he didn’t feel like people?

He released her with a mumbled apology.  “I’d forgotten how warm you mortals are.”

“You didn’t seem cold,” she said.  Curious, Marianne hopped down from the table and leaned down to touch Bog’s hand where it rested on the chair.  She thought he seemed closer to room temperature.  That could easily be bad circulation as much as anything.

Although Stuff and Thang both had an amphibious look about them.  Maybe most goblins were cold-blooded?

While Marianne thought that over she let the tips of her fingers wander up the back of Bog’s hand to where armor replaced skin.  He had a lot more exposed skin on his palm.  Understandably the armor was rougher than flesh and it really did feel like tree bark.  But it was a young tree, still smooth and unbroken.  She tapped it gently.  “Is all this connected to you?”

Marianne was already studying the rest of his arm, inspecting the jagged points of his elbows.  If she hadn’t she probably would have paid more attention to the awkward throat-clearing that preceded Bog’s answer.  “Aye, it is.”

“Must come in handy,” she noted.  Marianne considered the layers of armor that seemed to peel back from Bog’s neck like a collar.  The one closest to his neck looked the newest.  “Do you molt?”

He reared back in his seat and for a scary moment she thought he might be about to tip the throne over in his effort to get away from her.  “What sort of question is that?” Bog demanded, color rising in his cheeks.

Marianne crossed her arms and reclined back against the table.  She didn’t get why he was acting as if she’d asked to see him naked.  Folk royalty had weird sensibilities.  “The logical kind.  Besides, you know embarrassing details about my personal life.”  It occurred to her a little too late she’d implicitly agreed to teach sex ed to formerly mythical creatures.  Oh, there was embarrassment aplenty in her future.

With that cheerful thought, she noticed the handprint on Bog’s throat no longer appeared as livid.  Marianne pointed to her own neck and asked, “That is going to heal, isn’t it?”

Tension eased out of Bog’s posture and he appeared less prone to flying out of the room.  “With time.”

“I hate that answer.  Especially when it’s true,” Marianne said.  She softly tapped her boot against Bog’s foot and smiled.  “So, molting?”

He scowled.  “Do _you_ molt?”

She laughed.  “You’re being sarcastic but I read once that human bodies do shed old cells so that we’re living in new bodies every seven years or so.”  It had been heartening news at the time.  Fresh off the Roland mess, Marianne dreamed of one day living in skin he’d never touched.  “Of course I read that on the internet so I should probably double check the source.”

“Internet?” Bog repeated.

Marianne grimaced.  “Ooh, that’s a tough one.  Try imagining a really huge library that’s invisible but with the right device you can see it anywhere.”  She paused then rubbed her eyes with a tired sigh.  “That sounded ridiculous.”

“It did,” Bog agreed.

She dropped her hands to her sides.  “My phone’s on its last legs or I’d show you.  It’s less absurd in practice.”

“The device you used to speak with your sister at a distance?” Bog asked.

“That’s the one.”

He looked proud to correctly identify at least one piece of her foreign tech.  “Useful invention.”

“We’ve had a few of those.  So about molting - ?”

“All right, yes, every few centuries!”  He buried his face in his hand with a frustrated groan.  “You’re incessant.”

“Guilty,” she replied faintly.  Holy fuck, he was centuries old.  What if he was somewhere in the thousands?  It was too weird, she needed to think about something else.  “Does it hurt when it happens?”

He gave a shrug, face still hidden.  “Itches.”

In a fit of sympathy, Marianne decided to give the poor otherwordly monarch a break.  She picked up the pitcher Thang had abandoned and refilled Bog’s goblet.  At the sound of wine, he peered between his fingers.  She caught his eye.  “Sorry, I’ve made this awkward again.”  She held the goblet out to him.  “Drink to forget?”

“A grim toast.”  He drank to it anyway.

Suddenly there was a tapping at her left boot.  She looked down to see Stuff peering up at her with the iPod outstretched in her hand.  “Lady Marianne?”

“Right, let’s see the damage,” Marianne said, plucking it out of Stuff’s fingers.  Cradling the iPod would be going a step too far but it did feel good to have it back in her hands.  “And it’s just Marianne.  No title.”

Thang snorted, peeking his head out beside Stuff.  “Shows what _she_ knows.”

Bog swung his foot in Thang’s direction and the goblin scampered.  Marianne was getting used to Thang being forcefully corrected so she didn’t pay it much mind.  She only looked away from her iPod when Bog asked, “Is the device truly damaged?”

“It probably just needs power,” Marianne said.  Especially if Stuff and Thang had been fiddling with it all day.  Unless they’d accidentally turned it off when searching for the trick to making it work she couldn’t see much chance of getting any music out of it tonight.  She pressed down on the power button.  No response.  Marianne clucked her tongue.  “Yeah, going to need to charge it overnight.”

Stuff let out a distressed grunt.  “We didn’t break it, did we?”

“No, it’s in good shape,” Marianne reassured her.  “You know how you can’t start a fire without kindling?  It’s like that.”

There was a fluttering at her ear and she nearly jumped before reminding herself that the handmaidens were still hovering behind her.  They were probably just as concerned about the iPod as Stuff, if only so they could listen to _Shadows of the Night_ on repeat.  Oh, there was an idea.  “This’ll give you guys time to think of requests.  Did you have any favorites back when you last heard music?”

Bog grimaced.  “My mother has a weakness for the perishingly romantic.”

Marianne gaped at him.  “You... your mother?”

“ _Dawn, go away!  I’m no good for you_ ,” the Four Seasons crooned from her purse.

“Oh shit.”  Marianne lunged for the bag but her handmaidens beat her there.  They lifted up then dropped it carefully into her outstretched hand.  She smiled briefly then took the call.  “Hey Dawn, you back already?”

“Back already?  We’ve been gone for ages,” Dawn said, put out.  “We got the generator you wanted but I’m not looking forward to lugging it up to the mansion tomorrow.”

“What is a - ?” Bog started to ask but Marianne quickly put her hand over his mouth.  She’d been expecting a death glare.  Instead he went completely still, the slack in his fingers allowing his goblet to tumble to the floor.  Hopefully she hadn’t broken him.

“Is someone with you?” Dawn asked.

“Just background noise,” Marianne said.  “I’m taking a walk.  Thought I should stretch my legs.”

Dawn made a concerned sound.  “Are you feeling better?”

Marianne winced.  Oh yeah, her sister was under the impression she’d had a violent confrontation with Roland last night.  “Super!”  Shit, she never used that word.  Dawn was going to suspect.  “Er, my phone’s battery is really low so I’m just going to finish up my walk and then come meet you for dinner.  Sound good?”

“Super?” Dawn asked.

“Ha, that’s an agreement!” Marianne said.  “Bye, love you.”

Well, that had been a disaster.  She was going to be grilled over dinner.  Or worse, Dawn was going to be even more worried and start fussing.  Marianne was just the worst sister.

She was also still gagging Bog.  “Oh God, I’m sorry!” Marianne said, dropping her hand.

That paralyzed look hadn’t gone away.  She took a moment to feel guilty before deciding this was as good a time as any to book it.  “I need to get back before she comes looking.  So, uh, good fight but great negotiation?”  Were there online classes in shutting the fuck up?  She stuffed her phone and iPod into her bag then slung it over her shoulder.

The sudden activity seemed to break whatever spell Marianne had worked on Bog by touching his mouth.  He stood up.  “Wait, I’ll escort you.”

“No need,” she said, backing away.  “I’ll be running the whole way.  Runners are terrible company.  So... see you tomorrow!”  Marianne sprinted out the door and was relieved to find the entrance hall on the other side.  “You’re good people, house.”  She patted the front door gently before leaving. 

The handmaidens kept her company as she jogged to the gate then made sad whistling noises when she left.  In the mess of confusing thoughts in her head she still had room to feel guilty about leaving friends behind.  Aside from that, and aside from the realization that Unseelie Kings had mothers, Marianne kept getting stuck on the way Bog always looked surprised when she initiated non-violent touch.

Loneliness really was a universal constant.

But soft lips and warm breath?  Those she didn’t think about at all.

At least not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful art by dainesanddaffodils! Go check out more of her work on tumblr.


	9. Invaded

If Marianne thought bargaining with the Fae had been difficult, she swiftly changed her opinion after walking into the pub. The room went silent as a crowd of wary eyes traced over her body. She wanted to bare her teeth as she would with Bog. More, she wanted to tear into them for letting her walk into danger without a word. Instead she had to bite her tongue.

The ‘Lady’ Marianne who branded goblin kings needed to stay in the mansion where she’d left her. Time to be normal again. Or as close to normal as she’d ever gotten.

“There you are!” Dawn called from the back of the room, waving her hand. Marianne waved back and started to make her way to their booth.

Unfortunately Roland had jumped up to meet her halfway. He blocked her path to Dawn and glared down at her. It was something of a shock to see genuine anger in his eyes. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen him truly angry with her, even when she hit him. Her hand curled around the poker she’d left tied to her belt.

“About time,” he snapped. “Now would you please tell your sister I’m not some kind of monster?”

Marianne snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”

Dawn zipped around Roland and linked her hand with Marianne’s free one. There was a harsh crease in the lines of her forehead. Here was another angry face Marianne didn't recognize. Her sister’s lip then curled up in a sneer as she looked down her nose at Roland. “Ignore him. He’s not invited to our table.”

Then she actually shoved past him with Marianne in tow.  And Roland just… gave up. Let out a whiny little huff and stomped out of the pub.

What the hell had been going on today?

Dawn sat her down next to an unusually subdued Sunny. The guy looked like he’d been in the trenches. It only got weirder when Dawn sat across from them and a long, awkward silence stretched over the table. Marianne tugged her bag closer to her body as Dawn studied her menu and Sunny watched her with concerned eyes. The silence just kept going and going until a server came to take their orders. They all got fish and chips with Marianne asking for a bottle of wine.

It wouldn’t compare to what she’d refused but she had a craving.

Marianne waited until she’d had a few sips of wine before finally braving the minefield. “So what did I miss?”

Sunny let out a sigh of relief. “A _lot_ \- ”

“Not a thing!” Dawn interrupted, which was so uncharacteristically rude of her that Marianne choked on her wine. “Just a day full of shopping. You would have been so bored.” She gave a quick, strained giggle that sounded physically painful.

Marianne turned to Sunny. “Okay, you need to start talking.”

“Talk about what? Nothing’s wrong,” Dawn said. Her smile was brittle enough to shatter on contact.

“Really? Because I came in here looking completely bizarre and you haven’t said a word,” Marianne pointed out.

“Yeah, why do you have a fire poker?” Sunny asked, looking down at said object.

“To poke fires.” Marianne reached over and took Dawn’s hand, ignoring that urge to flinch away from skin contact. “This isn’t about me looking so banged up, does it? Because I told you it wasn’t what you thought.”

Tears gathered in the corners of Dawn’s eyes. “Sort of.”

Marianne glared at Sunny because she couldn’t glare at anyone else. “ _Talk_ , Sunny.”

“She called your father about what happened with Roland and he didn’t believe her,” he confessed in a rush. Dawn let out a sob and Marianne swung out of the booth. She set herself next to Dawn with every intention of pulling her into a hug. Instead she found herself gently patting her shoulder. For the life of her she couldn’t convince her stiff limbs to wrap around her sister.

She was so fucking broken it was pathetic.

“Oh honey, I’m sure he took you seriously,” Marianne said, knowing it was a lie. Even Dawn’s perfect SAT score hadn’t shaken her father’s impression of his youngest daughter as a flighty child. Sometimes she thought maybe her father had them both frozen in his memory as the people they’d been when their mother died.

Dawn pressed her face into Marianne’s shoulder. “He said that you would tell him if you were afraid of Roland and that I just didn’t understand your relationship. Like it takes a PhD to figure out what a screaming fight plus hand-shaped bruises equals.”

“Oh Dawn, I’m sorry,” she whispered into her hair. She didn’t deserve to touch her, not with all the lies building up between them and the ones yet to come.

“And then Roland was so smug about it and talked about how we were practically family so we just needed to move past this. I don’t… I don’t know how I couldn’t see what he was.” Dawn looked up at her with bewildered eyes. “He’s _always_ been awful.”

“Well, not always,” Marianne said. It felt like pulling out one of her teeth to admit it but she could remember a little boy with laughing green eyes helping her mother bake them cinnamon cookies. She didn’t know when everything had gone so wrong.

“Maybe daddy’s right. Maybe I am stupid,” Dawn murmured.

“You’re brilliant!” Sunny said loudly enough to drawn the attention of the whole room. Luckily their food arrived to interrupt the conversation and once more the village’s eyes turned from them.

Marianne poured herself a very full glass of wine to wash the bitterness from her mouth. Their father was a flawed man but never in a thousand years would he call his daughter stupid. The trouble was he treated her that way and actions meant more than words ever would. One of the main reasons Marianne had left was that she found herself slipping into condescension around Dawn. She outright refused to go down that road.

Dawn poked at the flaky batter coating her fish.  Marianne sighed and looked into her glass. She needed to fix this.  At least she could be honest about half of the drama that had gone down last night.  The trick was keeping the focus on the argument, not the injuries.

“This is all my fault,” she said. “You were right about me lying about my injuries, Dawn. It’s just that I was lying because I was embarrassed. I was running too fast, not looking where I was going and then I ended up in a bunch of thorns. Worse, someone actually saw me acting like an idiot and had to drag me out. That’s why…” Marianne gestured at her bruised shoulder. Dawn was looking over at her with sympathy and it made the lies burn all the more.

Thank God she could start telling the truth now. “Roland upset me but he didn’t hurt me. And I kept myself from hitting him without anyone restraining me. Personal best!” she cheered weakly.

Sunny forced a laugh and she smiled at him.

Dawn shook her head. “But what did he say to you? I haven’t seen you that upset since you guys broke up.”

“Oh, he asked me to marry him.” Marianne took a swig of wine while her sister let out a shocked gasp. “Then he forgave me for hurting him.”

“He _what_?” Sunny and Dawn said together.

It made her laugh. With any luck every time she remembered the argument she’d pair it with their disbelief and end up laughing again. Might be nice to catch a break for once.

“That was my reaction. But the really weird thing? He started out sounding so reasonable. He apologized for hurting me and I almost believed he regretted what he’d done.”

Dawn had perked up at Marianne’s laugh and looked eager to throw her support behind any discussion that involved dissecting Roland. “How’d he do that? Did he curl his hair into a sad face?”

Marianne snorted into her wine. “No, but I’m sure that’s going to be his next plan. He came up with something pretty good, actually.”

“Enough suspense! What’d he say?” Dawn nudged her shoulder with a giggle.

“Okay, okay!” she laughed. “He said I was the best thing that ever happened to him and it kills him to know that he’s one of the worst things to happen to… to… Dawn? Dawn, honey, what’s wrong?”

All the color had drained from Dawn’s face. She began shaking her head. “But I never told him.  I wouldn't help him, not in a thousand years. But then how... Sunny, you remember that I - ” She turned to look at Sunny and froze.

When Marianne saw the guilt on his face, she began to understand what wasn’t being said. Once the apologies started flowing she knew she was right.

“I’m sorry! But it’s not what you think.” Sunny winced. “Okay, no, it is what you think but it’s not the way you’re thinking it? He was acting really upset and asking what he’d done wrong. So I thought maybe if I told him what you’d said he would start to get what he’d done. And he said he wanted to apologize for real this time!” His eyes darted frantically between Marianne’s forbidding expression and Dawn’s teary one. “I just wanted to help make things better for everybody.”

“He _hurt_ my sister,” Dawn whispered.

Sunny waved his hand at Marianne. “No, but she said it wasn’t him!”

“Not the bruises!”

Marianne heard the noise in the room dip down in order to better listen to what was happening at her table. She angled herself to keep the village from seeing the tears spilling down her sister’s face. If it also kept her from lunging across the table at Sunny, all the better.

Although it looked as though Sunny wished Marianne would just take him out. He clutched at the table, pain and regret creasing his face. “Dawn - ”

“He took my words and used them to try to get into her head,” she said. There was a faint tremor in her hands as she folded them in her lap. “I _trusted_ you, Sunny. And you let him use me to hurt her.”

“That’s not what I wanted!”

“It’s what you did."

Watching the betrayal cast a shadow over her sister’s face was too much for Marianne. She quickly dumped Dawn’s food onto her own plate, snatched up some napkins to stuff into her bag and then stood up to grab her bottle off the table. “How about we go have room service, Dawn?”

She gave a jerky nod. “Okay.”

Sunny watched them leave and Marianne wished she cared more about the apologies that followed them out of the pub. On the one hand, she was relieved. Roland figuring out what he’d done wrong, saying all the right things… Yeah, that had messed with her head. Now she knew they hadn’t been his words. They’d been the words of someone who actually loved her, who never tried to fake it.

With the benefit of perspective she could see she’d loved a version of Roland that didn’t really exist. He painted a picture of who he was then sold it to her for the entirety of their relationship. But he hadn’t loved her back. He just wanted to be part of their family. He wanted the protection, the security. The _money_.

Once her head cleared Marianne would recognize that Sunny was the polar opposite. Hell, the same perspective that had allowed her to see what a bastard Roland was would also let her admit that Sunny’s betrayal was nowhere near the same level. She’d probably encourage Dawn to forgive him.

Not tonight, though. No, tonight he was the man who’d made her little sister cry.

Un- _fucking_ -acceptable.

Though as it turned out, watching Dawn mechanically chew her food then curl up in their bed with her heartbroken eyes didn’t inspire forgiveness in Marianne. Morning rolled around and she was still pissed. Roland sashaying up to their breakfast table, confidence inexplicably renewed, didn’t help.

It had been one thing when he’d only been the bane of _her_ existence. Causing Dawn to suffer made her rethink that shopkeeper’s offer of a shovel. Since murder was frowned upon even in Scotland, Marianne settled for making him help Sunny haul their new generator, carpet cleaner and vacuum up to the mansion. She took off ahead of them with Dawn, whose raw, bloodshot eyes made it clear what she’d spent the night doing.

“How about we sweep up the ballroom today?” Marianne asked. She’d wanted to walk with Dawn’s hand in hers but she’d ended up tangling her fingers in her sister’s blue cardigan. Even with a clear sky the sun wasn’t doing much to combat the bone-chilling wind.

Blonde hair drooping into her eyes, Dawn stared down at the road. “Okay.”

“You can pick the music,” she offered. Usually that would have been enough to cheer Dawn up. This time all Marianne got was a noncommittal hum.

Feeling a little desperate, she tried again. “We can make it romantic! All the romance. Just… perishingly romantic.”

Clearly that conversation with Bog had stuck in her head. If Dawn commandeered her iPod and played every sappy love song she’d ever illicitly stuck on it then that would sort of be killing two birds with one stone, right? Make Dawn happy and please Bog’s mother?

Dawn gave her a curious look. “Since when do you say perishingly?”

“I met someone,” Marianne said. She thought she said it in an off-hand way but Dawn’s eyes became laser-focused.

“Was this the guy who saved you from the thorns?”

Oh shit. Her lies were about to get tangled up a bit, weren’t they? Marianne cleared her throat. “Uh…”

Dawn suddenly lit up with a blinding smile. “Oh my God, when you said met someone did you mean you _met_ someone?”

She gaped at her sister. “Uh…!”

The next instant she was swallowed up in an eager hug as Dawn squealed in her ear. “This is amazing!”

She was so happy. She was also never, ever going to let this go now. _Double shit_.

Marianne looked over Dawn’s head at the mansion’s gate with a desperate yearning. Not that the mansion could really do anything about this situation. No one to blame but herself and no one to rescue her. Typical.

Dawn was still clinging tightly so Marianne tried doing some gentle shoulder patting. Her sister buried her face into her collarbone so her next words were muffled. “I’ve been so wrapped up in… in… Nevermind. Tell me everything!” At this she jumped back, still with a bright smile but her eyes were suspiciously wet at the corners. “What’s he like? Does he live near us? When can I meet him?”

“Never!”

Her smile wobbled and the suspicious wetness got more obvious. “Never?”

Marianne wondered how many time she could win the Worst Sister Ever Award. Christ on a crutch, she was on a fucking roll. Maybe next time she could remind Dawn of how young the Brontë sisters were when they died.

“Er, I mean, it’s really early? I don’t even know how I feel about him.”

The wounded look quickly vanished and Dawn flipped back to excitement. “But it’s perfect. Like you said, spring wedding!” With a last giggle she slipped Marianne’s bag off her shoulder and ran up to the gate ahead of her.

Marianne stared after her with growing horror. “Oh God, what have I done?” The last thing she wanted to do was shine Dawn on about some potential relationship that didn’t exist. And she really didn’t want her sister to be forcefully cheerful to lend support to said fictitious relationship.

She was so wrapped up in trying to find the right way to approach her sister about Sunny and Roland that it wasn’t until she started propping open the mansion’s doors with rocks that she remembered the folk. Marianne pressed her forehead to the door frame. “I don’t know how you put up with me,” she whispered to it. “I don’t even want _me_ living in me half the time.”

Maybe it was because she’d foregone wearing primrose petals today. The idea of juggling human drama while also pretending not to see what no one else could had had no appeal. She’d need to trust Bog’s word or they were all screwed anyway. All the same, she was beginning to worry that she felt too calm about creatures of myth and legend living in the walls while she dusted.

In the ballroom Dawn had set up the music and started using the Swiffer to gather up the dust on the floor. Marianne wondered if it had struck her as odd that there were so many footprints and strange marks that had disturbed the layers of dirt. Then she wondered why the hell she’d chosen to queue up Marianne’s Gonna Need An Alibi playlist. Next to Bog stepping out of a mirror, seeing Dawn wiggle her hips to _Problem_ by Natalia Kills was the weirdest thing she’d ever seen.

It would have been different if her enjoyment had been genuine but she had that determined little crinkle between her eyes. She got the same look when Marianne taught her how to change a tire. The skill wasn’t coming easy so she was going to force it kicking and screaming. Marianne shook her head and hurried over to her iPod speakers to cut the music. “Nope, we need to talk.”

Dawn looked up once silence fell. “What’s wrong?”

She crossed her arms. “What’s wrong is that there’s only room for one angry borderline violent personality in this sisterhood.”

“Borderline?”

“Haha,” Marianne said. “Pull up some floor and let’s talk.” She sat down next to the speakers, her back to a mirror. It occurred to her that it would be absurdly easy for Bog to grab her.

If the music had lured him then it had probably occurred to Bog, too.

She licked her lips and forced all her attention on Dawn. Her sister had curled up beside her with slumped posture and those too-sad eyes. Marianne took a deep breath, searching for her right words. “A big reason I left for the summer was because I didn’t want to hurt you with who I was becoming. And now it really feels like I’ve failed.”

“No!” Dawn cried, head jerking up so she could look straight on at Marianne. “You haven’t hurt me, not once.” She pulled up her legs so she could set her chin on her knees. “Can you forgive me?”

“For what?” she asked, baffled.

“I told Sunny - ”

Marianne cut her off. “Nope, we’re not going there. You are in no way responsible for Roland’s or Sunny’s choices.” Dawn gave her a watery smile that failed to reassure Marianne. “Seriously, it’d kill me if any of those tears were because you thought you’d hurt me. And that’s no hyperbole. You’ve got to save me, Dawn. The longer you look sad the closer death comes. Oh God, the chest pains…”

Dawn laughed. Weak as it was, it sounded genuine. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Good.” Marianne gently bumped her shoulder. “You should also know that the only reason I’m mad at Sunny is because he upset you.”

Dawn’s eyes went wide with shock. “But he was working with Roland.”

“Sunny’s the overly helpful type. I believed him when he said he thought Roland was genuinely sorry.” Marianne watched Dawn’s face, hoping for some flickers of mercy for her friend. She looked considering. Well, that would have to be good enough. “And remember Roland fooled me, too. I didn’t always know that he’s a manipulative douchebag who deserves a good drowning.”

She took a little satisfaction in Dawn’s giggle before she considered the danger of saying Roland deserved to be drowned within earshot of unpredictable forces who would take her at her word. “ _Metaphorically_ drowned.”

Dawn frowned. “What?”

“Just looking out for my karma.”

Apparently her karma was already for shit because the next thing Marianne heard was Roland’s smug voice as he stepped into the ballroom.

“Well, this is typical, isn’t it?” he said, tossing a smile over his shoulder at a distressed Sunny. “We do all the work while the girls sit and gossip.”

Her breath caught. A pressure began to rise in her chest and if she’d been able to breathe Marianne thought she might have screamed. Of the many emotions tearing through her, rage was the easiest. She picked it up and held on when she jumped to her feet.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Roland crossed his arms. “Come on, Marianne. You weren’t serious about keeping me out.”

Behind him Sunny was holding up his hands, looking mortified to be in Roland’s company. “I told him not to. I said it was a bad idea.”

“You tell him all sorts of things these days,” Dawn hissed a few inches from Marianne’s ear. She flinched, suddenly aware that her sister had gotten to her feet and was glowering from behind her shoulder. Her heart had been pounding too loudly in her ears for her to hear it.

“Always got to be someone else’s fault, doesn’t it?” Roland gave her a pitying look. “Let’s be adults about this. Or are you really going to ‘feed me to him’.” He made quotation marks with his fingers and rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t eat _trash_ ,” Marianne spat.

“You tell him!” Dawn said.

Roland laughed at her. “Maybe we should discuss this away from the children.”

Suddenly Marianne had her arms full holding back a thrashing Dawn who had started gesticulating violently and swearing in German. Sunny grabbed at Roland’s arm, clearly trying to drag him back out of the ballroom. Given the height disparity and Sunny’s slender frame, he was getting nowhere fast. The worst part was that Roland just kept laughing as though nothing had ever been funnier than Dawn’s anger.

Damn but she wanted her sword.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a whistled chorus to _Shadows of the Night_ began to echo off the walls. Three blurs of color shot through the open doors to dive-bomb Roland in a storm of angry shrieks and bird claws. Dawn went still in Marianne’s arms, which was lucky since she had forgotten to hold her back once her handmaidens made their entrance.

Sunny had done the smart thing and backed the hell away from Roland. The man himself was now shouting, flinging his arms about his head to try to protect his face from the pecking. The green blur seemed especially determined to take out one of his eyes.

“Get them off me! Get them off!”

“Maybe you should take this away from the children?” Dawn suggested.

At last Roland began to retreat from the ballroom and the handmaidens started to herd him in the direction of the front door. The rest of them drifted behind him, watching numbly as tiny birds bullied a six-foot man. Marianne almost smiled.

The urge died when Roland lunged for the wall brimming with decorative weapons to pull down a sword. He swung at her handmaidens, who let out shrill cries of fear.

Rational thought deserted her. A calm, logical person would perhaps have called off her birds and talked Roland into going to the village for medical attention. But Marianne saw problems as nails and she was a motherfucking _hammer_.

She ripped the same sword that had saved her from goblins two nights ago off of the wall and fell on Roland with an outraged scream. “Get away from them!”

Roland wasn’t nearly arrogant enough to take the murder in Marianne’s eyes for granted. He tried to match her swordplay as he hastily retreated but, rusty or not, she had far more experience. After three ringing clashes of metal on metal she’d disarmed him. She feigned a lunge and Roland backpedaled so quickly he fell on his ass out the front door.

Marianne looked down her sword at the squirming blond jackass she’d trusted her body to and wanted nothing so much as to peel the skin from her bones. He wasn’t laughing anymore. Instead he looked at her with fear.

“Marianne, you wouldn’t… Come on, you’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?” he asked. Few things were sweeter to her ear than the tremor in his voice.

“Oh Roland, I’d never kill you,” she crooned. She waited until he relaxed to add with a toothy grin, “ _In front of the children_.”

“That reminds me I need to talk to Sunny,” Dawn announced. “We’ll just leave you two alone, shall we?”

Marianne heard Dawn drag off a protesting Sunny, although he quit that soon enough when he realized he had a shot at being forgiven. She continued to grin at Roland and gestured with her sword. “Stand up.”

He fumbled as he got back on his feet. His hair was a wreck and he didn’t try to fix it, keeping his hands raised as he continued to move away from her sword. “Honey, we need to talk about your behavior.”

“Really? I think we need to talk about getting you on the first plane out of Scotland,” Marianne said.

“I could do that,” Roland said.

It surprised her enough to make her stop backing him towards the open gate. “What?”

He gave a bashful nod. “Hey, I know when I’m beaten. You don’t want me here.” A shoe big enough to house an old woman and her many children was guaranteed to drop. All the same, Marianne still wasn’t prepared for Roland’s play. “Of course it’s going to be tough to explain to your father that all your old problems are back.”

The sweat on her back turned to ice and she was actually afraid she might be sick. “You son of a bitch.”

The bastard had the nerve to look sympathetic. “You keep lashing out, Marianne. And the violence? It’s going to seem pretty familiar to the old man.”

“I was a child,” she hissed. “I’d just seen my mother _die_. And you’re going to use that as some sort of fucked up bargaining chip to make me let you in the house?” Tears burned in her eyes. “What kind of monster are you?”

“You can take it however you want,” Roland said with a placid expression. “See me as a monster if it makes you happy. Or maybe see me as the man who loves you and will do anything to stay. But you can’t win this one, Marianne. You know it.”

She grit her teeth before the sob at the back of her throat could escape. Her sword scraped the ground as she lowered her arm. Marianne turned her eyes away, keeping still as Roland walked past her back into the house. She could feel the tremors in her hands and the weakness infuriated her.

Nothing she could do. Not a goddamn thing in the world she could say to protect the people and places she loved. She stood up straight, sword gripped tight in her hand and fought the scream she wanted to loose across the rolling purple heather and peat bogs.

“Trouble, Marianne?”

It went against every instinct she had but she forced herself to drop the sword before she swung it behind her to take off the Bog King’s head. Because of course it was him with his smoky accent and shitty timing.

She sighed. “What would give you that impression?”

“Call it intuition,” he said.

She turned to face him. “Yeah, I call it nosine- _What_ the fuck are you wearing?”

Bog looked down at himself, baffled. Reasonable enough since his clothes were pretty normal. He had a maroon scarf wrapped around his neck to hide what she’d done to him and a matching vest under his black woolen trenchcoat. Even his walking stick, clearly his staff in disguise if the amber head was any clue, didn’t seem that odd clutched in his long-fingered hand. But that was the detail she got stuck on. His hands were human. Shit, _all_ of him was human.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is this what you look like when you’re hiding?” Marianne asked, getting right up in his personal space to better study his face. He wasn’t precisely handsome. His nose was too big, cheekbones too sharp. Not to mention those thick eyebrows stabbing down over his eyes. At least those hadn’t changed much. They didn’t seem as starkly human when paired with warm golden skin. And that was weird, wasn’t it?

He stared down at her with a blank expression. “It’s my human glamor.”

Marianne hummed and studied the mass of black windswept hair and sideburns that framed his narrow face. “I don’t think I like it.”

Bog scowled. “Don’t you?”

“I can still sort of see bits of your real face in the illusion and it… Yeah, no, that’s off-putting.” She shook her head. “You’re much better without all this.”

The scowling stopped but he seemed at a loss for what to do with his face now. “I… that’s… Thank you?” He blinked a few times before gathering himself. “Regardless, I wanted to inquire as to whether you might be having second thoughts.”

Marianne’s shoulders drew back as she straightened and gave Bog a suspicious glare. “Why? Are you?”

“Not at all,” he assured her smoothly. “But given your new circumstances, I thought perhaps you might relish the opportunity to amend our agreement.”

Marianne bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood. She wasn’t sure if it was to keep from saying something rude or from jumping at the chance. With that thought she turned away from Bog with a casual wave of her hand. “Oh, Roland? He’s just a pest. I can handle him.”

“I have no doubt.”

Before Marianne had a chance to debate whether he was being sarcastic or not she felt a warm breeze tickle the back of her hair. A large hand spread wide over her back and she could feel the heat of his skin. “My question to you, Marianne, is why should you have to when I am offering my help?”

His voice soothed the hurt places in her chest and that tightly-wound scream that seemed always so close to the surface dissipated. She felt the oncoming sway of her legs. Maybe going without primroses had been a bad move.

“It would be the simplest thing in the world,” he whispered and the words curled sweetly against her ear. “Say he isn’t one of yours and I will vanish him for you. Never again would you have to set eyes on that face.”

Oh, temptation was such a small word in comparison to the pang of longing Marianne felt at his offer. It was very nearly enough to make her accept. If he went on any longer, she very well might cave. But she knew a little about Bog now and she knew how to stop this train of thought.

Marianne turned to Bog and pressed her hand to the center of his chest, two fingertips resting at the naked hollow of his throat. That tingle of magic on the air went dead as he froze under her touch. Then she was distracted from his face by a discovery. The heartbeat under her hand felt distant as though something thicker than flesh or cloth separated it from her. She smiled.

“This is really you under here, isn’t it?” she asked. “You haven’t changed. I just can’t see you.”

Bog cleared his throat. “So it would seem.”

Marianne twitched her fingers up to nudge his scarf out of the way. She got a quick glimpse of an old, fading scar. “So it would seem,” she echoed, a surge of warmth tinting her smile with fondness. “Well, thank God for the little things.”          


	10. Weak for You

“Marianne?”

Bog vanished from beneath her fingers at the sound of Dawn’s voice. Marianne stumbled forward into the empty space where he’d been. She tried to play it off by smoothing her extended hand over her hair when she turned to look at Dawn. Her sister stood on the threshold of the mansion and even at a distance Marianne could spot the concern pinching her delicate face.

“Hey Dawn,” she said and hoped she didn’t look too much like she’d just been picking at an Unseelie King’s scarf. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay out there?”

Sword in the grass and Roland stalking about the mansion like a victor, no wonder Dawn was worried. She ground her teeth at the thought of Roland. Painting on a smile would have been the easier path but she didn’t have the energy. She couldn’t go back in the mansion feeling like she did while he pretended to be looking out for her best interests. If she just had her own violent instincts to control, that wouldn’t be so bad. But the fact that a few simple words would mean banishment from her life…

Bog had given her a terrible gift.

Marianne gave her sister a thumbs up. “Totally. Just, uh, getting some air.”

Dawn’s worried look vanished, making room for her eager-to-help expression. “Sure! You _should_. Lots of air. I’ll sort things out but… yeah, take your time!” Her sister darted back into the mansion with an ominous spring in her step.

Marianne shook her head. Clearly a plot was afoot but at this point she was beginning to lose track of the many and varied plots afoot. What was one more? At least she knew Dawn wasn’t going to kidnap anyone or manipulate their father into thinking Marianne was mentally unstable. And when she stole her iPod, she always gave it back.

The muscles in her back screamed as she leaned down to scoop up the discarded sword. She could feel exactly where Bog’s staff had ground an imprint into her skin. The remaining scratches were painless in comparison to that deep ache. Not to mention all the pangs she was quickly feeling from her dip back into swordplay. Those particular muscles hadn’t gotten any use for too long and now she was going to pay for neglecting them.

Marianne curled her fingers around the decorative pommel then caught sight of a glint of amber in the weeds. She frowned. Bog had left his cane. Did it fail to travel with him when he vanished?

She straightened up with both weapons in hand, feeling a bit like a dual wielding video game character. When she turned to examine the amber under more direct sunlight, the glow of the stone dimmed. In the space of a breath another dark cloud blotted out the light and restored the amber’s luster.

“So you don’t like sunlight,” she murmured. The sudden rearranging of the clouds had been awfully convenient. Did the staff have power independent of Bog? Clearly Bog had his own magic or he wouldn’t have been able to disappear minus his favorite blunt instrument.

Marianne fumbled with the sword as she struggled to hook it into her belt, eyes darting back to the glowing sphere of amber. It was smaller than when it sat in the ornamental tangle at the top of Bog’s staff. Strange to think that what appeared so real in her hand was really an illusion. The texture of wood on her skin was a lie and in truth she was palming a metal from a different world.

Even though it was really none of her concern, curiosity killing the cat and such, Marianne couldn’t help but speculate about folk magic. For instance, she knew that primrose petals protected her from magic that would alter perception but had zero use against magic that created a real, physical change. Dust being temporarily removed from the dining room and then her handmaidens tending her hands hadn’t been illusions.

But then, Bog’s glamour hadn’t been a perfect illusion. Without any protection from his magic she’d still noticed the irregularity of his heartbeat. Maybe that was the trick with illusion magic? One detail had to be off somewhere. Still, not very useful unless you knew you were supposed to be looking for it.

She lifted the cane up to her face so she could get a closer look at the amber. In its true form the amber was a jagged hunk, not a smooth ball. So if she looked hard enough… God, if she looked hard enough someone else was going to look out the windows and think she was losing her mind. Just what she needed.

Marianne sighed. “Come on, buddy. Time to find a place no one else will see you.”

She looked up from the amber, then with a startled jerk fell back against a wall and let the cane drop from her hand. The mansion was behind her now, not in front. She stared at the tangled mass of overgrown garden that stretched far out until dissolving back into the rolling hills of heather and grass.

Wind stirred beside her, the only warning she had that company was coming. Then Bog’s voice sounded by her shoulder. “Performing magic in full view of the house was not precisely what I had in mind when I asked for your discretion.”

She digested that comment, shaky after her impromptu teleportation. “Sorry, what now?”

“We have a _deal_ , Marianne. Remember?”

His tone was miles from amused and Marianne knew she should be more alarmed by that but she kept getting hung up on one idea. “You think I did magic?”

A frustrated growl rumbled distressingly close to her ear yet her eyes were glued to the cracked branches of ancient trees. Every time she blinked she expected the view to change. She’d _moved_ without moving. No car, no bus, no airplane. No house randomly rearranging itself around her. _She_ had moved.

But of course, no, not really her. Bog’s cane/staff had done it to her. She cleared her throat. “Look, if you leave magic sticks lying around and strange things happen then you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

“It is not a stick!”

Marianne glanced down at where it still lay in the grass. “You leave it on the ground a lot for something that’s not a stick.”

In a grand sweeping gesture, he bent to retrieve his cane. At least it looked very grand in her peripheral vision. Any moment now she supposed she was going to stop waiting for the last few minutes to be a weird fever dream. Although really she wasn’t sure how this was weirder than Bog stepping out of a mirror.

Speaking of, the man himself didn’t seem to be over his snit. “For a mortal so quick to decide magic had nothing to offer you were very eager to try it for yourself.”

She turned to glare at him. People could criticize her temper all they liked but at least Marianne knew it was a guaranteed defense against being overawed by magic. “Listen, I did not do anything with your super special safety blanket other than pick it up and look, okay?”

Bog clutched the cane to his chest and stared down his nose at her with his patented ‘mortal wretch’ look. “Safety blanket?”

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve snarking at me about not taking you up on your Eve and the apple maneuver. So I didn’t throw myself at your feet for the chance to pull rabbits out of top hats, boo hoo. Are you going to throw a tantrum the next time I eat because I didn’t want anything from the Unseelie supermarket?” When all she got in response was a half-perplexed and half-irritated stare, Marianne waved a hand at him. “All right, so you probably didn’t get half of those references. Sorry. I just… If you get insulted every time I decide freedom is more important than something you’ve offered, we’ll spend all summer arguing.”

Bog lifted an imperious brow. “Is this your version of arguing? I took it for a lecture.”

“Well, that’s the danger of arguing with someone who spent adolescence parenting her little sister.” She shrugged. “It’s a character flaw.”

“I see.” They stood in silence for a moment. Bog’s lips parted, hesitated long enough for her to catch sight of jagged teeth in his human mouth, and then finally admitted, “You may also find the same danger when arguing with a king.”

“Used to being the authority. I get that,” Marianne said, distracted now by the realization that Bog was not half so human-looking as he’d been a moment ago. His nails appeared sharper, his skin leeched of that healthy glow.

“And would you also… _get_ that I may be the more learned authority on magic than yourself?” Bog’s eyes, still a shocking blue unchanged by magic, cautiously met her own. She got the sense that he was trying a tactic that made him uncertain. The calm and logical approach had never exactly been a natural maneuver for her, either.

“Yes, I get that, too. What I don’t understand is how I would be capable of doing magic like that. To me it makes more sense if your staff just, I don’t know, went off.”

Bog’s eyebrows pinched together in annoyance and, yes, they were also looking wilder. “My staff does not go off. It is a tool. Do combs launch themselves into your hair without notice?”

Marianne held up her hands. “Fine. So let’s say me doing accidental magic is a thing now.” _Pfft, yeah right_. “How do I stop doing it?”

He gave her a dry look. “You may want to consider not talking to objects you consider to be inanimate and then being shocked when they respond.”

Marianne had a vision of the _Be Our Guest_ sequence being performed in the mansion and snorted. “Gotcha.”

As if wishing for something could make it happen. She knew full well she didn’t have that kind of power. Obviously his majesty’s magic stick was just acting up and he didn’t want to admit it.

He scowled at her tone, coat tails flapping out behind him along with the faintest sound of fluttering wings. His face was increasingly angular in a way that human faces couldn’t be. Marianne didn’t understand why his glamour was just leaking out instead of vanishing. And why had he used it at all when she already knew what he looked like?

“Why not just let me see you?”

His eyes clouded over. “What?”

Oh shit, she’d said that part out loud. Evasive maneuvers! Marianne started to back away. “Nothing, nothing. Forget it. I, er, should make sure my handmaidens weren’t hurt with the whole swords and Roland being a jackass… thing.”

“And forgo the ‘lots of air’?” Bog asked. Apparently they were in agreement that her outburst should just be ignored. As if it were any of her business how a king chose to conduct himself.

“I bet if I open a window I can still… Hey, wait,” Marianne paused, considering Bog’s phrasing. “You were listening to that conversation.”

Bog let out an irritated sigh and turned from Marianne. He leaned heavily on his walking stick with one hand, using the other to search for something in his jacket. “Human notions of privacy. Be a treasure and spare me your tedious complaints,” he grumbled.

Marianne pursed her lips. She hadn’t complained about his eavesdropping with Roland and yet here Bog was jumping to conclusions. She’d been far more interested by the idea that he hadn’t teleported away at all, which would mean he’d been watching her examine his staff.

“Kings in glass castles shouldn’t throw stones,” she quipped, deliberately checking her temper. If Marianne was going to wheedle an explanation out of a stubborn immortal she had a better chance with distraction than screaming.

Bog huffed and ignored her in favor of whatever he’d just retrieved from his jacket pocket. She quietly approached, peeking around his arm. He appeared to be rolling a cigarette in black paper, although she’d never seen purple tobacco. His hands went still and Marianne looked up to see Bog looking at her with confusion.

It occurred to Marianne too late that she was standing awfully close. He could probably feel the heat of her body through his jacket sleeve. “Sorry, am I bothering you?” She was fully prepared to take a step back until Bog shook his head quickly.

“You are at liberty to do as you wish.” The words were confident but his wary eyes gave away his anxiety. Marianne just didn’t know if he was hoping she would wish to stay or leave.

“Except magic,” she joked.

He rolled his eyes, returning his attention to completing his not-quite-cigarette. “You may do as much magic as you like, although given how little you understand your own power I would not recommend experimenting blindly.”

Marianne laughed under her breath. “So lassoing the moon is right out.”

Bog paused in his task and turned to study her face. Whatever he found there made him frown. “Do you truly not believe you have power here?”

She believed that she’d bargained for a length of rope that would either save or hang her. “Not really, no.”

His frown only got worse from there, darkening his whole face. “The house moves to suit you - ”

“To suit _you_ ,” she corrected. “Getting locked inside with goblins on my heels wasn’t my idea.”

“The locking was my power. The unlocking? Yours.”

“I used a key, not a spell.” Except, wait, how would that work to break magic cast by a Fae king? Marianne shook her head. “You’re basically saying the house cares about my feelings.”

Bog stiffened up. “You say that as if such a thing could never be.”

She’d stumbled onto thin ice here. Something about their conversation was clearly making Bog angry but for the life of her she couldn’t put together what that might be. “It’s different for humans,” she said. “Just because I have a feeling doesn’t mean the environment around me cares.”

“And the people?” Disgust lent a sharp edge to his words. He sounded almost the same as when he talked about… Oh shit. He was thinking about Roland.

Marianne blinked up at him. She felt at a loss as well as a little sick. How much damage had Roland done that she couldn’t believe her feelings mattered?

Had that even been Roland’s fault to begin with?

She coughed out a weak laugh and looked away. “Wow, that got personal.”

Breath tickled the hair tucked behind her ear. “Marianne - ”

“Too bad I can’t get a hit of whatever you’re rolling there,” she interrupted. “It’d be nice to take the edge off.” She felt him withdraw from her, just an inch of space but it was like the end of a rainstorm. Cleared air and new topics.

“My kind smoke it for the flavor.” He lifted the cigarette to his mouth then lit it with a wave of his hand. She noticed any trace of fingerprints had faded out.

“Your kind being royalty or…?”

He took a long drag before exhaling a gust of purple smoke. “If I’d meant royalty then surely you would already be familiar with its taste.”

It took a minute for the implication to sink in but once it did Marianne burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you’re smooth!” When he scowled at her it only made the giggling worse. “No, really, it’s a compliment. Ten out of ten, would flirt again.” A fierce spasm of pain lit up her back and she gasped, pressing a hand to the source. “Oh damn, I shouldn’t have laughed that hard.”

Another cloud of purple rolled by her face as Bog leaned in, face tight with concern. “You’re hurt?”

“Well, we weren’t fighting with feathers yesterday,” she reminded him idly. She was more interested in pinning down what he was smoking. It smelled like lavender but also nothing like it. They had the similarities of distant cousins.

Suddenly the cigarette was being pressed to her lips. Marianne jumped backwards and landed hard on her already-sore backside. She glared up at Bog. “We have a deal about that kind of shit!”

He flinched, shoulders hunching in as though she’d truly managed to chastise him. “I did not intend you harm,” Bog said. “Oftentimes humans experience a loosening of the muscles when they partake of - ” He gestured with his hand, smoke drifting leisurely from the cigarette.

Okay, so faeries had a version of human marijuana. Not the weirdest thing to find out. Marianne got back on her feet, brushing dirt off her jeans. “It’s a nice thought but I’m not getting trapped in your world in exchange for pain relief.”

A low, irritated growl rumbled in Bog’s chest. “You must think me a grasping fool.”

She frowned. “Excuse me?”

The king’s mouth had curled in a snarl. In a blink he had stubbed out the lit end of the cigarette on the back of his hand and then tossed it to Marianne. She caught it out of reflex. When she looked up, Bog was looming over her and no one would mistake him for human now. The barest threads of his disguise clung to his frame as he sneered at her. “Unless you intend to eat this instead of inhaling, you have nothing to fear.” With that he drew himself up to his full height, his staff in its true form beside him. “You cannot control your breath.”

A crack of thunder split the air and the Bog King vanished.

Marianne gulped. That hadn’t gone well at all. And, yeah, she was feeling a little dense because Bog had explained the rules to her already. The trap only worked if she chose to eat or drink of his world. No human had a choice about taking a breath. Involuntary reflex didn’t count and after all the breathing in she’d done around the mansion she would have been stuck in Bog’s world long ago if it worked that way.

With a frustrated sigh, she tucked the cigarette away in her hip pocket. She needed to get back into the mansion before Roland stole the silverware or Dawn taught the handmaidens to sing Disney classics. Apologizing for insulting a king’s honor could wait until sundown.

Only when she’d stepped back into the entrance hall did she remember that inkling that Dawn had a more diabolical plan in mind. The generator had been set up with a tarp beneath it to protect the marble from scratches and two extension cords stretched up the stairs before vanishing around the corner. Marianne listened for a hint of her sister’s voice but so far all she got was masculine grumbling from inside the ballroom. At least Sunny and Roland were stuck somewhere out of the way.

Suspicious, Marianne climbed the stairs and followed the extension cords. She heard chirping as she got closer to the bedchamber at the end of the hall, then her sister’s laugh. It eased a little knot of fear in her chest to know her handmaidens were with Dawn. If Roland had hurt them then Dawn would have tried rushing them to a vet by now.

Marianne peeked around the open door. She’d seen this room before on her tour of the mansion but it was looking significantly better now. Dawn had thrown open the balcony doors, likely for air. The weak sunlight managed to glint on the pale opalescent wallpaper, brightening the dreary atmosphere. The red carpet looked less drab and it only took the sight of Dawn emptying out their new vacuum cleaner to explain that. The white marble fireplace still needed cleaning. Across the room the giant bed with the tall white ash headboard carved to resemble a tree in bloom looked weighted down by dust. Still, the room was cheerier by far with even just one layer of dirt taken away.

Dawn smiled brightly when she spotted Marianne at the door. Then she nodded to the three birds perched on the mantelpiece. “Girls, look who’s back!”

In an instant she was mobbed by fluttering, singing friends. She managed to catch the red one in her hands while her sisters perched on her shoulders, rubbing their feathered heads against her cheeks. Marianne stroked the red one’s plumage and smiled. “You three should be careful or I’ll start thinking you like me.”

They let out amused chirps and Dawn laughed. “They’re so smart. It’s like they really understand you!”

“Nah, they laugh at me all the time,” Marianne said, lifting the red bird up so she could perch on her head. It wasn’t as though her hair could get messier.

“I’m liking that look on you,” Dawn teased. “It’s very punk princess.”

“Everyone’s got singing birds and swords these days. It’s very _in_.” Marianne struck an exaggerated fashion magazine pose, sending Dawn into a fit of giggles.

She flapped her hand at Marianne and tried to catch her breath. “Not fair. That wouldn’t be half as funny without the birds. They’re _mimicking_ you.”

In the mirror over the fireplace Marianne could just see a hint of the red bird trying to match the pose that she’d pulled. She covered her mouth to keep in the laughter. She didn’t need to throw her back out goofing around with Dawn. “Yeah, well, that’s because they have impeccable taste.”

“You sure it’s not just avian Stockholm syndrome?”

Marianne faked an insulted huff. “If you can’t appreciate style then you can just keep vacuuming alone.”

“Oh no, not that,” Dawn wailed, although the grin undercut some of the drama. “Surely my big sister won’t abandon me when she hears my brilliant plan.”

“I knew you were scheming!” Marianne said with a snap of her fingers.

Dawn shook her head. “Great job, Mr. Holmes. You’ve only known me your whole life.”

Marianne decided to ignore her. “The sharpest tack, the brightest bulb - ”

“The messiest hair.” Dawn eyed the tangle of brown locks. “Which is now a literal bird’s nest, I might add.”

“We all have flaws,” Marianne said with a shrug. A little of her joy slipped away when she remembered saying nearly the same thing to Bog only moments ago. Just when they’d found common ground she managed to set off a landmine.

It occurred to her too late that Dawn had been talking. She tried to get into the swing of the conversation but she’d clearly missed a significant portion since Dawn was talking about furniture. “It’s not like it’s going anywhere in the dressing room,” she continued. “And it’s way easier to clean in here without maneuvering around chairs and dressers.”

Marianne’s eyes dropped to Dawn’s lithe body. She’d moved a dresser by herself?

“Next step is to knock the dust out of the mattress and bedding. Then when I go downstairs to wash the sheets you can run the vacuum again, the carpet’s nowhere near really clean. We should really give it two more passes before we shampoo the carpet.” She pointed to the carpet cleaner she’d hauled up the stairs. That explained the second cord. “Then quick stop for lunch and while we wait for everything to dry we can work on the bathroom.”

Marianne held up her hands. “Okay, hold on, I’m missing something.”

Dawn’s big blue eyes darkened with concern. “Do you not like the room?”

“What, no? It’s gorgeous.”

“And you haven’t even seen the bathroom!” Dawn cried before grabbing her hand and dragging her into the next room.

The bathroom was pretty damn gorgeous. Once again Marianne thanked whatever power was listening that the mansion had been built with plumbing. It was an entirely different style than the bedroom, much more in keeping with the darkness of the halls. The black walls shimmered with a metallic effect and the mahogany floor gave the room that same almost-weightlessness of the ballroom. It would be easy to float away in the black clawfoot tub.

And there was a chandelier. In a _bathroom_. She didn’t even know she loved that concept until she saw it.

“It’s wonderful, Dawn,” she said. “I just don’t get why you’re in such a hurry to get it ready. We’ve got time.”

Dawn shook her head. “No way. You have a right to a space that’s Roland free.” She had to have noticed how rigid Marianne had just become but she continued. “I don’t know why you let him in but I know you too well to think he got the best of you with information you’d be willing to share. So if you won’t let me help you solve that problem, I can at least put a mile between you at night.”

“Oh Dawn,” Marianne whispered. Her little sister looked so stern with a fire in her eyes and dust on her nose. The birds all cooed in unison. Marianne cleared her throat, stomping on the impulse to cry.

Dawn squeezed her hand. “It’s time for your cure-all for whatever ails you.”

She grinned. “And what’s that?”

Her sister gestured around them. “Physical labor.”

Labor was an understatement for what they put themselves through fighting to get those rooms in a livable condition before the sun went down. Throughout it all they sang. Dawn even suckered Marianne into singing the _Happy Working Song_. The birds absolutely loved it. Typical.

Marianne only ate half of her enormous sandwich at lunch, saving the other for the dinner she hoped would take place in the mansion. Dawn explained how she’d made Sunny promise to keep Roland in sight whenever they were in the mansion and that it was his responsibility to supervise. She sounded less irritated with Sunny. Marianne hoped her personal drama could at least bring those two back together. Unity against the enemy was good for bonding, right?

Maybe that’s what she and Bog needed. An enemy bigger than each other.

No matter her skepticism, Marianne should have known that when Dawn had a goal then its completion was a foregone conclusion. Fifteen minutes until sunset they tiptoed out of a sparkling bathroom and over the slightly damp carpets of Marianne’s newly pristine room. The plan for tomorrow was to clean the furniture before moving it all back where it belonged. The thought made her grin. She had a room in the mansion.

And a bathroom with a tub perfectly capable of bestowing upon her aching body the gift of hot water. Thank God for Dawn’s brilliant head.

Marianne waved her cleaning crew out of the mansion with a benevolent nod to Sunny and a significant look to her sword for Roland. He still wasn’t arrogant enough to ignore the threat, sickly green eyes avoiding her face. For the thousandth time that day Marianne thought about whispering that she wished the goblins would take him away. Too bad for her that the goblin king in question definitely wasn’t in love with her and probably wasn’t looking to do her any favors.

She flipped the lock on the door then turned around to be immediately startled into a heart attack by Stuff and Thang. “Holy shit, you guys,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

Thang cowered. “We are so, so sorry, Lady Marianne. Please don’t tell the king!”

Stuff elbowed him with a scowl. “Don’t you have eyes? She’s fine.” Her own eyes swiveled to Marianne. “Aren’t you, my lady?”

“You just startled me. Try making noise or something,” Marianne said. The strangest part to her was that she’d really only been alarmed by their sudden appearance and nothing else. She’d gotten used to how they looked last night.

For some reason Thang bowed. “Of course, Lady Marianne. From now on we will announce our presence.”

“We wanted to get to you first,” Stuff explained.

That… was alarming, no question about it. Marianne bit her tongue. “Er, first?” Stuff pointed at the bag slung over her shoulder and Marianne laughed, relieved. “Oh right, music requests.”

As she walked with Stuff and Thang towards the ballroom, chandeliers came to life and the glow of newness returned to the mansion’s old bones. The building simply shook off its age like an ill-fitting coat. Marianne decided not to think too hard about that and hunted through her purse for all the tech she’d brought along for the journey. “So what did you guys want to hear?” she asked, paying not a shred of attention to the ballroom doors opening. When she did look up it was only in time to walk straight into Bog’s armored chest.

They both froze. Marianne tilted her head back to stare up at Bog’s flabbergasted expression. His arms had extended, probably in an attempt to stop her approach. Instead they looked as though they might fold around her body. And yet there was no flutter of panic, no urge to run. She couldn’t bring herself to hold Dawn but here she was leaning against a being who was more tree bark than flesh.

Her mouth went dry. “Sorry.”

She noticed a strange flush pass over the scar her hand had left on his neck. He swallowed. “No need.” His hands hovered over her arms and she thought his long, elegant fingers might have twitched.

“There is,” she argued. “I jumped to conclusions before. We have an agreement and I should trust you to follow it.” To an extent, in any case.

“Oh.” A smile flickered on Bog’s lips before he gathered himself and stepped away from her. “I meant to apologize as well. You had every reason to suspect me and I took it as an insult.”

“Because it was insulting.”

He shook his head. “I have had more grievous insults hurled at my face and not reacted with such… It matters not. You had not moments before felt the harm I was capable of dealing you. I know that pain is one of humanity’s wisest teachers. I doubt that much has changed regardless of the centuries I have missed.”

Marianne felt like arguing but that wasn’t unusual. Instead she smiled. “You’re being awfully reasonable about this. What’s the catch?”

Bog motioned for her to turn around and she did so. The ballroom doors had opened to reveal her new bedroom. She blinked quickly. Damn, that still threw her.

“After two nights of battle you are owed a rest,” Bog said.

She shot him a skeptical glance over her shoulder. “You’re giving me the night off?”

He puzzled over her phrasing only briefly. “Yes, I believe so. Every warrior must tend their injuries.”

“Warrior?” She grinned and, to her delight, he smiled back.

“I am not so senile yet that I cannot recognize the signs.” Bog waved her off. “You may entertain us with inventions tomorrow.”

Marianne was on the verge of taking him up on that offer when a part of their earlier conversation came back to her. “Uh, just to be clear, I do have a _few_ human notions of privacy.”

Bog chuckled. “No one may enter your quarters without your permission. No eyes, no ears. You have my word.”

Before she could logic her way out of the impulse Marianne reached out to squeeze Bog’s hand. For the first time he didn’t freeze up, even if he did keep staring at the point of contact. She smiled. “You’re good people, Bog.”

Startled eyes shot up to her face but she’d already let go to dart off to her room. She waved once then quietly shut the door. A tingling lightness spread its fingers in her chest. Marianne wondered at how happy it made her.

Next she noticed that her room had been lit with candles leading a trail into the bathroom. Her handmaidens zipped out in their petal dresses, bird disguises cast aside. They let out happy chirps at her presence then spun around her to collect her purse and sword in a flash. Marianne chuckled. “Okay, so you’re taking care of me for the evening.”

Her girls drew her to the freshly made bed to point out the gold silk dressing gown that had been laid out on the white cotton. She couldn’t help feeling a little sore that she and Dawn had put in so much work for a room that could have cleaned itself for an evening, as well as every abandoned article of clothing in its drawers. Still, it looked awfully tempting. She ran the backs of her fingers across the material and sighed.

“You three go occupy yourselves while I get changed.”

The handmaidens pouted but Marianne was unmoved. She was perfectly capable of undressing without pixies. Eventually they floated back to the bathroom.

Marianne caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror before she followed after them and she felt almost embarrassed at how fragile she looked in gold silk. If she took the gown off she’d feel less naked. She tucked her arms around herself and hurried into the bathroom. What she needed was a long bath.

Her handmaidens had lit the crystal chandelier and the mellow candlelight further warmed the luxurious arrangements. Steam rose up from the tub but when Marianne looked over the brim, it wasn’t water she found. Instead she stared in fascination at a liquid galaxy. The fluid had a dark purple color with swirls of sparkling white. She reached out to touch the surface and it reacted as water would when disturbed.

Marianne lifted her hand, watching a drop of the fluid run across her hand and erase any hint of the damage that had been done by the thorns. She looked over at her handmaidens, quivering with anticipation on the black marble vanity. Somewhere under all her shock and awe she managed to dredge up a smile. They took it for a victory, chirping excitedly as they flew out of the room.

She took a moment to weigh the pros and cons. Pro was obvious. Miracle healing and probably the best bath of her life. Cons? What if she swallowed some by accident?

“So keep your mouth shut, Marianne,” she muttered before disrobing and sliding into the bath. The relief was almost immediate. A significant portion of the pain vanished in a blink along with the physical evidence. However the deeper tissue damage did not leave her. She rolled her shoulders, letting out a sigh as the heat worked out what magic could not.

Her eyes drifted closed. She almost missed the hush of her handmaidens flying back into the room and depositing something on the decorative stand near the tub. Marianne turned her head then smiled at the sight of her iPod set cheerfully in its speakers. The gifts beside that made her a little more cautious. Bog’s cigarette sat daintily in a jade dish, the end mysteriously alight. That scent that was almost lavender but couldn’t be waft towards her.

She occupied herself with picking out some mellow Gin Wigmore songs while she thought it over. Where had the PSAs about fairy drugs been when she’d been growing up? For that matter, why hadn’t anyone offered her an absurd amount of free drugs for her to say no to?

Ah, to hell with it. How many chances in her life would she get this kind of opportunity? “Ladies,” she called out. “It’s officially your responsibility to keep my head above water. I am not allowed to swallow this stuff. Clear?”

She waited for an affirmative chirp then picked up the cigarette. Marianne cautiously put her lips to the black paper and inhaled. She’d expected to start coughing. Didn’t everyone do that their first time? Instead the smoke eased inside her like warm steam and filled her mouth with the taste of purple.

Her head rested against the tub as she stared up at the gently lit chandelier. The smoke didn’t make her feel high, exactly. Not that she knew what that would feel like but the descriptions she’d heard weren’t like this. She felt entirely herself except… safe.

The pleasure of music, hot water and the gradual easing of her abused body worked on her mind. She felt clean without a drop of soap. Happiness became a possibility rather than a pipe dream. Marianne took another hit of the drug, breathing in an uncharacteristic optimism.

She let her free hand wander under the water as she thought of _before_. So long since she’d felt comfortable in her own skin. She couldn’t feel impressions of Roland’s fingertips anymore as she ran her hand over her breasts, then lower. Gin crooned _In My Way_ and Marianne’s thoughts drifted to a fantasy wholly untouched by the man who’d nearly poisoned her ability to feel pleasure.

The prickling of her lashes on her cheeks as her eyes drifted closed made her smile. She imagined them as leaves on a tree in autumn. The whole mansion smelled like the changing of the seasons. Marianne drifted through the halls, branches emerging through the wallpaper and grass breaking through the carpet. She felt the crunch of leaves between her toes, tickling moist skin.

Smoke and earth filled her senses and she leaned against the trunk of a tall oak, overwhelmed. The tree’s flesh felt good against her naked body. A warm breezed teased her hair. It almost felt like breath. Her thighs pressed together at the sensation and she moaned.

The tree behind her gave. It eased her down into a pit of cloud-like moss. Gentle, impossibly smooth hands settled on her hips. “Please,” she whispered. A black, starless sky filled up her eyes. Then a wave of heat soared up her body and she arched, desperate. It came from those hands. She wanted them to touch all of her at once.

No, inside. She wanted them _inside_.

She felt the hands drift languidly over her thighs before slipping between her legs, caressing the smooth flesh there with long, taloned thumbs. Marianne lashed out, the spike of heat too much to keep still. But she could writhe and toss as much as she pleased without ever fearing that pleasure would desert her. She couldn’t scare it off.

Marianne dug her hands into the moss at the touch of breath against her core. She knew what came next and she felt like screaming for the next twist of pleasure so deep in her body.

“Oh God, more,” she begged.

A deep huff of amusement at that. Then a smooth, accented voice rumbled into her skin. “You are at liberty to do as you wish.” With his permission she latched onto his scalp and erased those few maddening inches of distance. That mouth pressed against her heat, sweet lips closing on a shrieking bundle of nerves.

She came with a shout, body twisting in the water and legs kicking hard enough to bruise. Marianne could feel the places in her body that were still hungry and gasping for more, who felt robbed at the sudden intrusion of reality.

The realization was slow in coming but when it did she almost flew out of the bath.

She’d just had her first satisfying orgasm in months because she had imagined the Bog King between her thighs. That necessarily led to the conclusion that…

“Oh fucking hell. I’m attracted to him.”

What was she supposed to do with that?


	11. What the Winner Don't Know

Marianne woke up to Dawn peering down at her face so close their noses were almost touching.  Essentially this meant that Marianne woke up screaming.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”  She flailed beneath the blankets and ended up doing a graceless fish-flop over to the far side of the bed.

Dawn jumped back.  “Sorry, sorry!  I’m so sorry!”

Marianne sat up, scowling.  “ _Why_  did you _do_ that?”

“I was trying to check how deep asleep you were,” Dawn explained.  She looked down to fiddle with the buttons on her baby blue raincoat.  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Marianne sighed and placed a hand over her racing heart.  Disoriented, she almost mistook the pattering of rain against the windows for the sound of her pulse.  “I think you just shaved a few years off my life.”

“I’m sorry,” Dawn apologized again.  “Would gifts help?”

She gave her a suspicious, if slightly groggy, look.  “What gifts?”

Dawn bounced onto her toes and held up her hands.  “Wait right there!”  She disappeared into the hallway, leaving Marianne to put her thoughts in order.

Christopher Lee once described getting stabbed in the back as having the air driven from your body so hard you couldn’t scream.  Discovering her attraction to the Bog King went pretty much the same way.  She’d crawled numbly out of the tub last night then huddled in front of the fire as she ate her leftover sandwich.  For the life of her Marianne couldn’t remember tasting it.  She’d been too busy replaying the fantasy over and over in her head.

Her first instinct was to blame it on the drugs.  Bog had said it had a different effect on humans.  Although he also said it was more a muscle relaxant than an aphrodisiac.  And even if it had been, the path her thoughts had taken was her own responsibility. She could have just as easily fantasized about a movie star or her first girlfriend. It shouldn’t have been so comfortable to think of a creature that definitely wasn’t human in that kind of light.

Marianne remembered the times she’d focused on the feel of Bog’s hands but she hadn’t thought of them as erotic. Not then. It would probably be tough to keep her mind from straying that direction now that she’d imagined them gripping her hips, gliding over her skin… And that was exactly the kind of thinking that had gotten her into trouble. Maybe the thing to do was just forget it? Write it off as being loopy from pain relief and magic bath water?

Or, better yet, blame it on Roland. He’d been the one to put her off sex in the first place. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to assume he’d put her off human men altogether. A little terrifying but not impossible, especially if the not-human in question had breathtaking eyes.

Her head jerked up at the pitter-patter of Dawn’s feet in the hall. She rubbed a hand over her face, vainly hoping it would scrub the inappropriate flashbacks from her mind.

Suddenly the bags Marianne had packed for her trip to Scotland were being wheeled-slash-lugged into the room by her deceptively slight-looking sister. She set them down by the bed with a relieved sigh then straightened up into a Vanna White pose. “Behold, luggage!”

Marianne looked over the giant suitcase, toiletries bag, and laptop case. “You hauled that up here by yourself?”

“It was good exercise,” Dawn said, tugging her satchel down her arm. From within she produced a thermos and Tupperware container filled to bursting. “I also come bearing coffee and scotch eggs.”

Dawn crawled onto the bed with her, handing over the thermos and popping the top off their breakfast. Marianne cautiously sipped the coffee. The tingle of cinnamon in her mouth made her narrow her eyes suspiciously. “I get the feeling you’re spoiling me.”

“The plan wasn’t to have you sleep up here and then make you scavenge for food,” Dawn said. Her sister was searching in her satchel for something so Marianne couldn’t judge whether she was trying to look innocent or not. Dawn pulled out a slim, silver rectangle that would provide ten hours of power for Marianne’s iPod and the hunch that she was going all out solidified into fact. She just hoped it wasn’t a guilt thing. What would Dawn even be feeling guilty for?

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to depend on whatever that garden could offer.” She considered the scotch eggs as Dawn plugged in the iPod.

“Who knows upon what soil they fed their hungry, thirsty roots?” Dawn plucked an egg from the dozen in the container and took a dainty bite. At Marianne’s blank look, she explained, “Reminded me of a poem.”

Marianne hissed, using the thermos to make a sign of the cross.

Dawn rolled her eyes and tugged the thermos out of her hand. “Not _that_ kind of poem. You’d like it, anyway. Steadfast sister braves danger to save the impulsive sister.”

“Well, we’re both impulsive so I guess we’d be screwed.” Considering what she’d been up to recently, Marianne didn’t know how well she was living up to the role of steadfast sister anyway. And she didn’t like the way Dawn had pigeonholed herself.

Dawn shook her head. “Nah. We’d save each other instead.”

“You’re putting cracks in the block of ice I’m using for a heart,” Marianne said, pressing a scotch egg to her chest. Then she brushed crumbs off her makeshift sleep shirt.

Dawn got off the bed and took the life-bringing coffee with her. “I’m going to get you a sweater before the rest of you goes the same way.” She unzipped the suitcase, tugged out the softest gray sweater Marianne owned, and threw it at her face. “I can’t believe you slept in a tank top in this drafty place.”

Marianne stuck the rest of the egg in her mouth so she could pull the sweater over her head. “The birds kept me warm.”

“Sure. Were they going to be your security system too? Because you left the front door unlocked.”

The pixies, currently disguised as sleeping birds, all let out a single sleepy peep from their perch on the mantelpiece. Marianne shot them a wry look. “Weird. Could have sworn I locked that.” Not that it mattered all that much. She had a kingdom full of goblins providing security these days.

There was a comfortable silence after that as the two of them traded the coffee back and forth, nibbling on still-warm scotch eggs. At least Marianne had thought it was comfortable. When Dawn spoke next she suspected it had been more brimming with anticipation than calm.

“So, about your thawing heart...” she began, looking up through her lashes with a grin.   “How’s our mystery man?”

Marianne blinked, question mark all but hovering over her head.

“Thorn Guy?” Dawn prompted.

Oh _shit_. Marianne stuffed an egg in her mouth to keep from making distressed sounds.

Dawn giggled. “That well, huh?”

If Marianne believed in God, and really at this point it wouldn’t surprise her, she’d be convinced He was punishing her for letting her sister believe a lie by making the lie become truth. One day she had a platonically fraught relationship with the Bog King and Dawn’s speculations were misplaced. Then the next day reality flipped, making Dawn exactly right.

Why couldn’t there be hard liquor in their coffee? Five in the morning was still five.

Dawn continued to wield justice on behalf of the universe by asking, “Did you see him last night?”

Marianne hummed noncommittally around her mouth full of egg.

“Any closer to figuring out your _feelings_?”

The temptation to spill everything was so much worse than the temptation to banish Roland to the goblins. She wanted to tell Dawn what had happened. All the madness and inappropriate urges and flat-out impossibilities. But she’d given her word.

Then again, she’d never promised Bog she wouldn’t talk about her feelings. Loophole! She swallowed her food. “Like… A little like the first time, I think.”

Dawn gave a sage nod. “Origami girl.”

The memory of that conversation made her blush. “It occurs to me you know too much about my sex life.”

Her sister waved a hand. “Whatever. More importantly, how I remember that unfolding, no pun intended, was you not knowing you were into her because you were operating under a flawed base assumption.” She took a dramatic pause, waiting until Marianne caved and gestured for her to continue. “Heterosexuality.”

“Oh right. How could I forget?”

How she wished she could. Would retrograde amnesia end this conversation?

“What’s got you hung up this time?” Dawn asked.

Marianne peered into the thermos. “This coffee is nowhere near strong enough for this conversation.”

Dawn confiscated the thermos and from the serious look on her face there was no getting out of answering honestly. “Come on, Marianne. You can tell me. What’s weird about Thorn Guy?”

He’s a Fae king and it could never work? Maybe in the alternate universe where she hadn’t been lying to her sister all week she got to say that. The Marianne of this reality had to come up with vague platitudes. “We come from really different places.”

“No kidding.”

Marianne dragged a hand over her face, frustrated. “I didn’t mean countries. Circumstances. Family and… and expectations.” If she got any vaguer she’d say it was her, not him and she just needed time to focus on her career.

Dawn considered this information with a contemplative sip of coffee. “So he’s fling material?”

“Dawn!” Marianne’s scolding only got her a benign smile in return.

“What? Is he hideous or something?”

“No.” And she wasn’t lying. Marianne couldn’t escape the knowledge that not only did she prefer Bog’s true form but she wanted to explore it for reasons that were far from academic. “More like odd but - ”

Dawn interrupted. “I understand. I like hot guys.”

 _Poor Sunny_ , Marianne thought. He was more adorable than hot.

“But I also like sweet and funny more.”

Oh. So… not poor Sunny?

“So if it’s just a looks thing…”

Marianne shook her head and tried to get the conversation back under control. “His looks are fine. I like how he looks. It’s…” What was an acceptable equivalent for different species? “He’s older.”

Dawn grinned. “Ooh, I get it.”

“ _Do_ you?” Marianne asked, eyeing her enthusiasm with worry.

“You think being attracted to him is inappropriate.”

She’d been so ready to tell Dawn she didn’t understand that having her issue pinned so exactly left her rattled. “Er, yes. Actually that’s pretty much it.”

“I’ve got great news.” Dawn leaned in and whispered, “You don’t have to be appropriate with him.”

Marianne covered her face with both hands, groaning.

“Not like that! I mean you’re only going to be here a few months. Potentially never see him again. Maybe you could just have _fun_.”

Marianne peeked between her fingers. “Fun?”

Dawn gestured with the thermos. “Yeah, that thing we used to do before… well, before.” A frown clouded her clear blue eyes. Marianne felt the same shadow fall across her heart and for a pained moment they both remembered the _before_ that defined their lives. The deafening snap of bone -

Dawn shook it off first, pursuing her original train of thought with the dedication of a bandit. “I just don’t get why you’re totally comfortable pouring all this time and energy into a house without any guarantee it’ll turn out right but a casual hook-up is too much.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Marianne tried to rally past the grief but it was a lot harder than it should have been. A weight crushed her chest at the picture Dawn painted. She could barely even see Bog in it past the fear.

Gentle hands reached out to take hers. Marianne blinked rapidly at Dawn, horrified to feel the damp creep of tears. What was wrong with her?

“Hey,” Dawn murmured. “It’s okay if you’re just not ready to have sex again.”

Marianne bit her lip bloody to keep from crying. Dawn saw her do it, too, but she didn’t try to stop her. She just kept her tone soft as she continued to speak.

“What Roland did was a terrible violation of trust. It’s going to take time to cope and his being here hasn’t made that any easier. But you don’t need to hurry to recovery for me or for Thorn Guy or for… for Prince Harry, even!”

Marianne let out a soggy laugh and Dawn smiled encouragingly. “It’s just that I think it would suck if Roland kept you from something you really wanted. He doesn’t deserve that kind of power.”

“Thank you,” Marianne whispered. The reassurance of Dawn’s love and support made her feel defenseless. She could feel the impulse to blow off what her sister had said, joke about how she was too young to understand. It shamed her.

Maybe she’d earned what had happened.

“You get to be taken care of, too,” Dawn told her as though hearing the swell of condemnation rising in her thoughts. “You get to be human.”

Marianne took a deep breath before lunging at Dawn and wrapping her arms tight around her. “You’re the worst and I hate you,” she lied.

Her sister squeezed until Marianne’s ribs ached. “No worse than you.”

They didn’t pull away for at least three minutes of silent, desperate hugging. Marianne kept waiting for the crawl of anxiety in her stomach. When it failed to appear she felt a tiny bud of hope stretch up inside her. She was getting better.

At last Dawn pulled away to press a kiss to Marianne’s temple. She smiled brightly, the glimmer of teardrops clinging to her lashes. “Now let’s unpack before all the feelings give you hives.”

The morning unfolded free of any more emotional upheavals and dramas. Dawn helped Marianne put away her clothes and cosmetics while keeping up a running commentary about the extensive collection of first editions in the library. When Sunny and Roland inevitably appeared downstairs, Dawn vanished for all of five minutes to shout down that the upper floors were forbidden to boys and they’d better get back to cleaning mirrors.

Marianne wondered if Sunny being trusted with supervising Roland was meant to be punishment or a sign of trust. Either way, she appreciated the two of them working together to create a buffer for her. She actually quite liked the prospect of going a whole twenty-four hours without a single glimpse of that cheating, conniving bastard.

So of course when the clock struck twelve and the rain stopped, Sunny came running upstairs with the bad news.

“I can’t find Roland!”

Dawn and Marianne both shot to their feet from where they’d been polishing the antique vanity that had been temporarily moved into Marianne’s new dressing room. They’d finished attending to most of the furniture in the set of rooms that were unofficially Marianne’s and the plan had been to move them back to their places after lunch but that went to hell with the appearance of Sunny’s distraught face.

“What do you mean you can’t find him? You weren’t supposed to let him out of your sight!” Dawn pointed at Sunny with her polishing rag, somehow making it look like it could be fashioned into a noose. “You promised me, Sunny. You _swore_.”

“But I didn’t! I mean, yes I swore, but I didn’t let him out of my sight!” Sunny said. “I was looking right at him and then… then I wasn’t?”

Marianne felt a chill work its way up her spine. Her first fear had been that Roland had taken the opportunity to steal something from the mansion. She’d been on the verge of charging for the front gates to stop him crossing the border. But if Sunny had seen him essentially vanish into thin air then it was unlikely Roland had disappeared under his own power.

But why would it happen now? She hadn’t excluded him from her terms with Bog. None of the folk were allowed to reveal themselves so he couldn’t have been lured away. Except… You didn’t have to see a thing to be lured, did you? She’d heard things before she’d known about the folk. A disembodied laugh, wind that didn’t belong…

“People don’t just disappear,” Dawn was saying when Marianne finally tuned back into the conversation.

“Okay, listen,” she interrupted. “I need you two to go outside and take a look around. Maybe he wanted some fresh air. But if you don’t spot him, just stay by the gate. I don’t want him running off with valuables or something.”

What she wanted was Dawn and Sunny near the exit in case the folk had turned on her.

“What about you?” Dawn asked.

“I know the house better. If he’s in here, I’ll find him.”

That didn’t go over well. Thankfully Roland being missing kept Dawn from arguing the point. She was obviously worried about some of those first editions taking a walk. Once Marianne knew the house was clear of all but her and possibly Roland, she went straight to the ballroom. It looked like Sunny and Roland had been half finished polishing the marble floors. A mop lay on the ground as though it had been dropped.

Marianne kneeled down carefully on the marble where the mop had been abandoned. Without the layers of dust she wouldn’t get clear footprints but she hoped for scuffmarks from Roland’s shoes. Or perhaps from other feet.

She wished she’d kept a stash of primrose petals. Roland could be invisible in front of her and she wouldn’t know. All she could do was hope for a discrepancy somewhere, a detail out of place.

A low bellow filled the ballroom and Marianne jerked forward, banging her elbow against the marble.

“Ouch, dammit! What the hell?”

In an instant Stuff and Thang materialized beside her. Thang was whimpering apologies while Stuff looked embarrassed for someone other than her friend for once.

“We’re sorry, Lady Marianne,” she said. “You asked us to announce ourselves?”

“The appearing out of nowhere thing,” Marianne said, nodding. “Okay. For future reference? Loud sounds out of nowhere aren’t any better.”

“Noted, my lady,” Thang quickly agreed. He also gave a little bow at the waist, which was strange. “With practice we will improve!”

Stuff slapped his arm. “We shouldn’t have to practice not scaring her. We should just _not_ do it.”

“Of course,” Thang said with a wince. “No more unexpected sounds or appearances. Would smells be better, Lady Marianne?”

Marianne felt her jaw beginning to gape and quickly stopped it. “Er, smells?”

“To announce our arrival! Perhaps a gust of ocean air?”

That actually didn’t sound so bad. Certainly better than the horns of war or whatever sound they’d used. What was it with everyone scaring her today?

“Sure,” she agreed. “Now I - ”

“Excellent,” Thang interrupted. “I will remember it from now on.”

“No, I’ll remember it,” Stuff corrected. “You’ll mix it up with roses or petrichor and then she won’t know what’s going on.”

Thang let out a hurt gasp. “I can remember ocean air!”

Stuff rolled her eyes, putting her webbed hands on her hips. “Bet you can’t.”

“Guys,” Marianne tried.

“I used to remember the seating arrangements for over a hundred mortals. A measly scent announcement is nothing!” Thang argued.

“A hundred mortals a hundred years ago. You’re out of the habit of remembering these days.”

“Could this wait?” Marianne tried again but Thang had already launched into another defense of his apparently excellent memory. She sighed and rested her weight on her hand. The sensation of having stuck her palm against a dusty surface briefly irritated her before smooth marble replaced it. With the rate her investigation was going she might never find Roland. Not that that would be an entirely bad thing.

“If you’ve got such a steel trap of a memory, why don’t you tell Lady Marianne why we’ve come to visit her?” Stuff demanded.

“We’re here to… to…” Thang stumbled to a halt. “I had it a moment ago.”

_Had it a moment ago…_

“Stop!” Marianne commanded and the two goblins fell abruptly silent. A moment ago she’d had a thought. Something had been out of place. She’d noticed when... when… “This tile was just cleaned and it felt dusty!”

Stuff and Thang exchanged confused looks. Stuff cleared her throat. “Our apologies, my lady. Once we used to oversee upkeep around here but it’s been a very long time - ”

Marianne stopped her. “No, I meant the details are wrong.” The goblins still looked blank so she pointed to the tile she’d been leaning on. “What do you two see when you look here?”

“Wood, my lady,” they answered in unison.

“Wood,” she repeated, thinking. A piece of marble swapped out for wood. “So the house doesn’t just move rooms around, it moves the floors?”

“Oh, all the time,” Thang said. “It gets bored.”

“And if someone was standing on the floor that got moved?”

Stuff looked surprised. “Is this about that blonde sputum locked up on the servant’s staircase?”

That was how Marianne found Roland. Not only that but she also got to look at him with a straight face and say the door had been unlocked the whole time and did they not cover doorknobs in college anymore? The bonus was when Sunny and Dawn heard about it they teamed up to make every door pun they could imagine.

Dawn’s announcement that Roland had been ‘in a jam’ was enough to send him off in a huff back to the village. Marianne watched him carefully as he left. She hadn’t seen any indication that he knew he’d been transported. Still, if he thought about it too hard he might find the edges of the enchantment. And there always was an edge, she’d learned that already. But since when did Roland think too hard?

After a few hours more work Marianne proposed an early break for dinner. Dawn shoved the still mostly full Tupperware container into her arms and sternly warned her that this was the last day she could get away without vegetables. Marianne grinned. A little space from the village was nice after everything she’d learned. She still hadn’t quite forgiven the general populace for letting her march into danger without a word.

She settled into the library for dinner with her iPod. Once the sun went down she expected a visit from Bog, who she’d managed not to think about for most of the day. Now with nothing but her chewing to break the silence that got a lot more difficult.

Marianne picked up her iPod and started scrolling. She wanted what Dawn said to be true. She wanted to think of her relationship with Bog as something that could be light-hearted and fun. It would be a nice change from feeling as though her life had been decided for her.

With Roland everything felt inevitable. Like dating a childhood friend necessarily meant he’d been the one all along. Her father had been thrilled. He’d been involving him more and more into his business. He loved him so much Marianne hadn’t had the heart to tell him why she had to end the relationship. She’d just announced the break and closed herself off.

No surprise then that her father hadn’t accepted it. Sending Roland after her to Scotland, waving off Dawn’s fear, it all pointed to how much he wasn’t ready to let go of the hope that Roland would be family.

He’d never been very good at accepting loss. She had to get that from somewhere, after all.

Her thumb hesitated over April Smith’s _Wow and Flutter_. Marianne considered it. How nice would it be to feel and not be afraid? To be herself? And Bog had so many rough edges surely he couldn’t be offended by some of hers.

Dawn had a point. It didn’t have to mean anything. With Bog, it couldn’t. He was powerful and centuries older and just… alien. They would never be serious so what could it hurt?

She set up her iPod on its speakers, hit play, and let herself be honest.

“Can I help myself if I find you simply delicious?” she sang along as she closed up the Tupperware. Three fanged pixy heads poked out from beneath the loveseat and Marianne laughed. She’d wondered where they’d gone. Of course music was a guaranteed way to call them up. That and Bog’s whistle but she’d leave that to him.

Marianne stood up and held her hands out to them. They flew up, each hanging onto one of her fingers as she gently spun them around with her. She kept singing and in moments her handmaidens had picked up the tune. They whistled as she danced with them.

Then she got a noseful of ocean air. She wondered briefly which one of the goblins had remembered and then she decided to never, ever ask.

“Stuff, Thang, come dance with us!” she called out. Only one set of feet scuttled over with eagerness. Of course it was Thang and of course in about a second he looked lost.

Stuff came over next. “We don’t know modern dances, Lady Marianne.”

“Neither do I,” she said. “These days it’s just moving to the beat however you want. No rules!”

The goblins looked dubious. Marianne reached over and restarted the song. “Okay, just watch me. But it’s not an imitation game so try to mix it up.”

Marianne began dancing to the beat while her handmaidens turned back-up dancers followed her lead. Surprisingly she found Stuff picked it up faster than Thang. She thought Thang’s general eagerness would give him an edge but he appeared too worried about getting it wrong. At last Marianne felt he might need advanced help.

“Here, Thang, give me your hands.” She leaned down and hooked her fingers under his, guiding his arm movements. Thang looked stunned by the contact. Maybe Bog wasn’t unique in finding human touch bewildering. “Do you want to know the wrong way to dance?”

Thang nodded vigorously.

“You know you’re doing it wrong if you’re not having fun,” she said. Then she dipped him.

To her great luck, Marianne had been browsing one of her upbeat dance playlists so once _Wow and Flutter_ finished they were on to _Uptown Funk._ No one could fail to dance to _Uptown Funk_. It just didn’t happen.

Marianne was more right than she knew.

She had two excuses for not noticing what happened next. One, no primroses! And two, she was dancing to _Uptown Funk_. Enough said.

One minute she was making the ‘whoo!’ noise and the next she noticed there were a lot more goblins in the room than there had been a minute ago. Marianne bumped into an incredibly tall, round goblin with gray-green skin and webbed, flared ears. It smiled bashfully at her. Sheer habit made her smile back.

Throughout the room she saw a menagerie of goblins, most of them amphibious in nature. She spotted a few furry, winged creatures rustling in the curtains. There appeared to be no limit to the variations of goblins. Some had long tails, others buck teeth. Colors ranged from tan to green to yellow. Being so suddenly engulfed in a crowd of fae creatures made her feel helpless. She could remember the last time she’d had a horde of goblin at her heels.

They’d been trying to steal her away.

And if they tried now, she’d be trapped. She was _already_ trapped.

Then Bruno Mars sang, “Make a dragon want to retire, man.”

And a high-pitched goblin voice called out, “Dragons _never_ retire!”

Marianne burst out laughing. All the eyes in the room turned to her, watching her lean against the massive goblin that had bumped her. She laughed so hard she wheezed. When she looked up into its eyes she could see concern and that took away even the dregs of lingering anxiety.

“You should dance with me,” she said.

In about ten seconds Marianne found herself being passed around from partner to partner, heights ranging so wildly she’d find herself leaning down one minute to her feet off the floor the next. During one of those instances the song stopped and she was left to drop unceremoniously to the ground. That struck her as a little rude. She steadied herself, ready to complain when the Bog King announced his presence.

“What is the meaning of this?”

He stood before the fireplace, staff gripped in a foreboding manner. Harsh, pointed eyebrows speared down between angry blue eyes. Marianne smiled and waved.

“Hi, Bog!”

Bog straightened his shoulders out of the menacing curl he’d donned. He nodded to her. “Good evening, Marianne.”

“Are you here for the dance party?” She gestured around to the crowd of goblins. “If I’d known we’d attract a crowd I would have moved to the ballroom.”

Bog’s eyes passed over said crowd with unspoken fury. She could feel the goblins behind her shrinking back. Marianne wondered if they hadn’t gotten permission to pop up for a visit with her. It was a little odd that she’d only met a few goblins when there clearly was a kingdom beneath her feet.

Oh shit, what if she’d lured them with _Uptown Funk_? Were they going to get in trouble? That didn’t seem fair at all. You couldn’t expect creatures with a weakness for music to resist a song with that great a beat.

Thankfully her iPod kept doing its job, flipping over to Taylor Swift’s _Style_. Everyone turned to stare at the speakers. It gave Marianne a minute to think of a plan. She walked up to Bog, distracting him from the source of the music. With a smile she offered him her hand.

“Since everyone’s had a turn, your majesty,” she said.

He frowned. “I… what?”

Marianne leaned in, using the hand that wasn’t waiting for him to brace herself against his chest. She tipped her head up to whisper into his ear. “I’m asking you to dance with me.”

Not a single goblin in the place had moved. Even the curtain flutterers had gone still. Marianne looked over her shoulder, annoyed at the scrutiny. “If this music’s not good enough for dancing - ”

She didn’t even have to finish the threat. In an instant the horde averted their eyes and went back to experimenting with modern music. At the same time Bog’s hand clasped hers.

Marianne had to give her imagination credit. His skin felt exactly the same as it had between her thighs.

She knew she was blushing when she looked up at him. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He left his staff against the fireplace and settled his hand at her waist.

“You will have to guide me,” Bog said.

Marianne hesitated and then, in what was likely a very foolish decision, said, “How about a little your way, a little mine?” Then she laid her head against his chest. She could feel the dim leap of his heart through the armor.

Unfortunately the rest of him went still. “I don’t believe I take your meaning.”

She sighed. “Never mind.”

Marianne couldn’t see a life where she had to all but draw up a contract for a single dance. She’d known the differences between them would keep anything serious from developing but to thwart even flirting? That was a letdown and no mistake.

She began to pull back. Bog’s grip tightened and his eyes went wide.

“Wait,” he said. Marianne watched him flounder for a moment, eyes passing repeatedly over her face. At last he settled on something to say. “I would very much like to dance with you.”

“Finally!”

Marianne jumped as a small goblin woman who bore an incredible resemblance to the red-haired troll doll she’d had as a child appeared at her elbow. The woman had an incredibly wide smile with square teeth currently directed at Bog.

“It’s been far, far too long since we hosted the shortest night in the above!” she continued.

“Mother, no,” Bog said but the woman, his mother, forged ahead.

“Don’t be silly, you just said you wanted to dance with the lady and who dances properly in these conditions?” Bog’s mother gestured around them with a laugh. “No, we’re holding the ball for Midsummer and there’ll be no backing out!”

Bog let out a helpless groan that made Marianne feel strangely protective. Before his hand could fall from hers she tightened her grip. “Maybe we should talk about this.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Bog’s mother proclaimed. She turned her smile on Marianne. “It’s the perfect way to introduce you, my dear!”

“Introduce me?” Marianne didn’t know why but that felt ominous.

“Why, to both courts, of course!” Bog’s mother laughed. “After all the ruckus you caused, you can’t imagine how we’ve all clambered to meet you. But Bog’s been keeping you quite to himself.”

Bog’s arm curled around Marianne’s waist at that. “The courts are not entitled to _my_ \- ”

“Let’s not be childish,” Bog’s mother interrupted. She held her hand out to Marianne. “Since Bog hasn’t seen fit, let me do the honors. My name is Griselda. I’m sure we’ll be fast friends.”

Marianne took Griselda’s hand but she was skeptical of the woman’s pronouncement.

 _Very_ skeptical.


	12. The Way It's Got to End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, I put together a playlist for this chapter. http://8tracks.com/rose-water-witch/the-way-it-s-got-to-end

Aside from her first bewildered reaction to the concept of an Unseelie King having a mother, Marianne hadn’t given much thought to Bog’s parentage. She supposed if she had she would have pictured a slender Grandmother Willow or praying mantis type. Genetics seemed to be another human concept the folk didn’t have because Griselda resembled Bog not in the slightest.

She didn’t just mean in appearance, either. Their personalities were polar opposites. Griselda almost bubbled with enthusiasm whereas Bog looked at her as though embarrassed to be caught existing in the same room. Marianne would almost think they had a bad relationship except Bog had thought of his mother first when offered the possibility of new music. That told her everything she needed to know about his love for her.

As for Griselda’s love for Bog? It definitely took the shape of pushiness. She ran roughshod over him with plans for the ball and co-opted Marianne in the process in order to help with the music.

If Bog’s mother hadn’t been exaggerating and he had, in fact, been keeping Marianne to himself then that plan was thoroughly blown to hell over the next week. Goblins would pop up all over the house to wave and whisper questions to her in the few minutes she was alone in the halls. Even more randomly, Griselda would occasionally appear in the wallpaper to ask about Marianne’s life.

The first time she’d seen one of the painted tree branches pushed aside to allow for Griselda to lean out of the wall, she’d nearly cracked her skull open with an ornamental helmet. Instead she’d just dropped it on her foot and grit her teeth to keep the pained shriek from escaping.

“Oh no, did I scare you, dear?”

Marianne forced a smile. “Little bit.”

The throbbing in her toe was slowly fading. With any luck she hadn’t broken it. Leave it to her to injure her foot before a dance, right? And this dance was beginning to take on epic proportions.

“I hope you won’t mention it to my Bog. You know how protective he is!” Griselda laughed fondly. “Just the other day he was scolding me about taking up so much of your time.”

“Don’t mind him, ma’am. If you need my help all you have to do is ask,” Marianne said. She had vague memories of her mother organizing beautiful dinner parties for her father’s business partners. Putting it all together alone and then being left to clean up the mess. The time she’d had to fit it in around a dress rehearsal all because dad hadn’t given her a heads up or even asked if she could do it.

So maybe she was projecting a few of her mother issues on Griselda.

“You’re such a delight, Marianne. Now could I just get your opinion on this color scheme, dear? Oh, and while you’re here, tell me a little about your education. Girls go to college more often these days, don’t they? What would you say your best subject is?”

And it would go on like that for a good ten minutes with Marianne only getting a few one word answers in until Dawn finally came looking for her.

Griselda’s insistence on including her in decisions about the Midsummer’s Eve celebration baffled Marianne almost as much as the inquiries into her background. She felt as though she was on the weirdest job interview of her life. It had been on the tip of her tongue to offer a resume but then she’d realized Griselda would probably love that. Worse, Bog seemed to put extra space between them whenever his mother was in the room. His face was always a combination of pained and broody. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words in days. She was getting secondhand news as to his state of mind from his mother, Stuff, and Thang.

She considered the news from Thang to be a little dubious. He tried, bless his heart, but nuance wasn’t exactly in his toolbox.

“They say his majesty is in fine spirits, Lady Marianne!”

“If they want to live,” Stuff added under her breath.

After five days of unexpected goblin activity, Marianne found things settling into a bit of a pattern. Stuff and Thang continued to be her main companions but the tall, round goblin she’d bumped into in the library had taken to following her around, too. His name was Brutus and she’d downloaded an app onto her Kindle for him so he could learn how to read English. In exchange, he was teaching her to waltz.

Her handmaidens were always hovering within sight and these days they were joined by whatever it was that rustled in the curtains as well as a few brown, gopher-like creatures with pointy ears who communicated primarily in squeaks. That night they were all in the library, Brutus settled in with her Kindle and Stuff poking through her make-up kit.

The mystery of Marianne’s missing chapstick had been solved a few hours back when she finally remembered to ask about it and Stuff had confessed she’d filched it for the faint lip color. Now Marianne was searching the internet for make-up brands that might possibly work on amphibious skin while Stuff tried out what she already had. Thang had taken the opportunity to give her the super useful update about Bog.

Marianne shifted next to Brutus on the loveseat. “Is this a thing that happens with him a lot? He just gets into weird moods for no reason?”

Stuff shot her a look. “Not without a _reason_ , no.”

Marianne sighed. She expected she was being a little ridiculous. They’d only properly known each other a few days, after all. An intense few days, sure, but that didn’t make her a Bog expert. And all the stories said the folk were changeable. Maybe he’d just gotten tired of her?

She glanced over at Stuff and then held up a hand. “No, not that one. Way too pale. It’ll leech the color right out of your skin.”

Stuff dropped the nude lipstick she’d been examining. “It’ll _what_?”

“Not literally. Look, I wouldn’t let you poke around in anything dangerous.” Marianne got up, setting her laptop where she’d been and went over to help Stuff. “You should look for richer colors. At least for lips. They’re more flattering for certain people and you’re one of them.”

Stuff made to leave the desk chair she’d commandeered for make-up study but Marianne gently pressed down on her shoulder. “I’m here to help, not make you move,” she said.

A weird sort of softness came into Stuff’s eyes. Then the goblin cleared her throat and looked away. “Yes, my lady.”

“One of these days I’ll get you guys to call me Marianne,” she said, leaning over to pick through her lipsticks. “Hm, this red is a little orange. But hey, that might work.” She handed it to Stuff.

Thang stood on his tiptoes to peek over the edge of the desk, just a little too short to see properly. “Will you be wearing face paint at the ball, Lady Marianne?”

“Probably,” she said. “I used to wear it all the time but…” Dad and Roland hadn’t cared for how dark she liked to line her eyes or the deep purple-red tones of her lips. _You look so pretty without that stuff, Marianne, why don’t you want to look natural, Marianne, what’s wrong with you, Marianne?_

 _ _T_ hese are fake lashes, Marianne_, an old memory whispered. _Look how big your eye is with all that fringe! Now you try to put this one on yourself._

“My lady?” Thang asked, tugging gently at the leg of her jeans. The little brown critters who’d been playing on her laptop poked their heads up to look at her with concern and the curtains rustled in a worried manner.

“Sorry,” Marianne said. “Totally lost in thought there.”

“You looked sad,” Brutus grumbled, distracted from his lesson. Her handmaidens whistled their concern from the mantelpiece.

“Yeah, I’ve… I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot recently. Just keep stumbling on her out of nowhere,” she tried to joke. She didn’t know why she was being as honest as she was instead of moving past it. It had been at least a decade since she’d talked about her mother with anyone who hadn’t known her. There was probably a whole pack of therapists who’d say that was unhealthy and that her mom issues were coming home to roost after all her repressing.

“Why does that make you sad?” Thang asked.

“Because she misses her, you lump, why do you think?” Stuff hissed. “And all the stuff with Griselda, course it came up.”

Marianne blinked quickly, surprised at Stuff’s intuition. “How did you know…?”

“Griselda’s a talker and you’re her favorite topic.” Stuff shrugged her shoulders. “You can talk to us about your mother if you like. We know how to keep our mouths shut.”

“Discretion is our specialty!” Thang announced.

Everyone in the room turned to look skeptically at Thang except for Marianne. While she wouldn’t go so far as saying she agreed with him, she thought it was absurd of her to accuse a creature of lacking discretion when barely a week ago she’d have said he was fictional.

She reached over to gently pat Thang on the head. “It’s not that my mother’s a secret, exactly,” she tried to explain. “With humans it can be hard for us to talk about the things that hurt us. Especially when it’s hurt for a long time.”

“But humans die all the time,” Thang said.

A book came whistling through the air to smash into the goblin’s skull, knocking him over.

“Thang!” Marianne kneeled down to help her discombobulated friend sit up and then shot an accusing look around the room. “Okay, who threw that?”

Suddenly no one was meeting her eye.

“Very mature, you guys. No wonder you have such long lives if it takes you centuries to grow up.” There was a palpable increase in goblin shame but still no looks strayed in her direction. She shook her head and turned her attention back to Thang. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Fit and fine, my lady,” Thang said. He even got back on his feet without her help although his eyes weren’t entirely focused.

Marianne nodded and then straightened up to confront the room, hands on her hips. “Now, whoever or whatever decided they needed to throw a book at Thang, let me make it clear that I _did not_ appreciate it. If I’m ever insulted or offended by something then you should know that I am more than capable of handling it myself. In fact, I prefer it.”

All the response she received was a round of blank looks. The handmaidens even went so far as to examine their claws and innocently hum. Marianne sighed. She supposed it might be a lot to ask a bunch of immortal beings to alter their behavior to suit her needs, especially when she’d be gone in August. “Look, how about this? If you think someone should be punished for hurting me, before you do anything I want you to ask me first. Can you guys do that?”

Her handmaidens were the first to agree but she rather doubted their commitment with their too-sharp smiles. Brutus grunted a reluctant affirmative before reaching over and nudging the gopher folk. After they fell off the loveseat as a result, they began nodding. The curtains heaved a sigh that Marianne interpreted as an agreement and finally the only one left fidgeting uncomfortably was Stuff.

Marianne frowned. “Stuff?”

Stuff pursed her lipstick-smeared lips and shot an accusing look at Thang. “He deserved it.”

It wasn’t exactly a confession but it served as well. Marianne shook her head. “You guys are a different species from me. Just because he doesn’t immediately understand what death means to humans - ”

“But he should!” Stuff burst out. “This isn’t news, my lady. He knows what death means.” She was glaring at Thang with enough intensity to set him on fire.

Thang whimpered and crossed his arms protectively over his chest. “What it means to _us_. Why would it matter to humans when it happens all the time?”

Stuff hissed at him. “When the king finds out you upset Lady Marianne…”

“I’m not upset!” Marianne shouted, in a way that she could admit probably sounded upset.

“See?” Thang snapped at Stuff before quickly taking cover behind Marianne’s legs as another book came sailing by his head.

“She’s just being nice to you,” Stuff sneered. “And that won’t last long if you keep talking like your brain’s made of bog water!”

“I’m just saying that if death upset humans like it does us, would they run off like they do?”

Marianne winced. Oh wow. That would be tricky for the folk to understand, wouldn’t it? She knew they saw what they offered humans as a gift, a way to cheat death. It must be frustrating to at least a few of them that so many people would spurn that in favor of a chance to die free.

Stuff rolled her eyes. “You’re still sore about that girl child making her escape just as her scales were coming in.”

Oh holy shit. _Lizzie_.

Thang scowled at the floor. “Broke her family’s heart. They still haven’t left her old room.”

Marianne’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t quite sound like the goblins Lizzie had depicted. Then again, she knew humans who mourned their pets like they’d lost children. Maybe goblins reacted the same way? Or maybe goblins just thought their feelings mattered more than anyone else’s. Again, not that far off from some humans.

Stuff waved a dismissive hand at Thang. “That’s the way humans are made. They never stay put.”

Thang heaved a sigh. “Not even the old king.”

In that moment it felt as though the air had been expunged from the room as every goblin soul froze. Marianne felt the weight of the discovery before the implication actually assembled itself in her brain. She took in all the terrified faces around her, the trembling of Thang’s hands where they’d clutched her jeans at the knee. Stuff went so pale that for a moment the only color Marianne saw was the bright orange-red on her mouth.

And then the spark of thought, one conclusion to the next. If Bog had a mother, if there had been a king before Bog, if Stuff said humans never stayed put and Thang said _even the old king_ …

“Was Bog’s father human?”

The pressure on her jeans vanished, along with everyone else in the room. Between breaths Marianne was standing alone in the library with two conclusions. First, Bog’s father had absolutely been human. Second, Thang hadn’t been meant to tell her that.

She slumped into the loveseat beside her laptop. It made sense now that Bog looked nothing like his mother. The shape of him, if you sketched him in the dark, could be mistaken for a tall human with broad shoulders. His mother had four fingers while he had five. His too blue eyes didn’t just appear human. They _were_ human.

He was a Fae king with a human father that no one, absolutely no one, mentioned. Was it a shame thing? Did it weaken his position to be half human? Or did no one mention his humanity because that would require mentioning his father?

Had Bog’s father deserted him?

Marianne covered her mouth with a shaking hand. God, what would that do to a child who’d been raised to believe their parents would live forever, be with them forever? A love meant to last that simply walked out the door.

No wonder Bog was greedy, grasping for more than he could have. Marianne felt a pain spear into her chest at the thought of being so different from everyone and so very, very alone. His low opinion of humans made perfect sense. It wasn’t just a superior species looking down on primitive life forms. It was _hurt_.

She could barely grasp the kind of loss Bog had been forced to endure. The only pain she had to compare it to was her mother’s death and that was such a different agony. Her mother hadn’t chosen to leave them.

Marianne shook her head. She was jumping to a lot of conclusions. Maybe Bog had suffered exactly what she’d suffered. Maybe it had been an accident, a moment of distraction. The old king could have been lured away from home and then… She shuddered. Every terrible ending she’d skimmed over when researching the folk came back to her.

“That poor man,” she whispered. And his poor family.

Marianne found herself wondering if the mansion had been something Bog’s father had loved. If it had been for him and after his death, Bog had left it to rot. She felt guilty then for what to Bog must have looked like disturbing a grave. That the house had come alive under her hands didn’t seem to matter in the face of that kind of disrespect.

No wonder Bog had wanted to punish her. No wonder he didn’t want to talk to her anymore.

Oh God, Griselda had said it had been a long time since they’d last held a party at the mansion. Oh God! Were they forcing Bog into standing up as king where last his father stood?

She thought quickly. Could they cancel it? Was that done in the Fae courts? With barely a day’s notice and no explanation for the change?

And all Griselda’s hard work… Bog’s father had been her husband. Surely she wouldn’t push her son into this if she didn’t think enough time had passed. Politically it may even be a necessary gesture.

No, the party was going to happen. She’d just make it her mission in life to make Midsummer’s Eve the biggest success the Unseelie Court had ever seen.

If only the personal lives of mythological creatures were her only concern. The truth was things weren’t going any smoother in the mortal realm. Living in the mansion had drawn a line between her and the villagers. The staring had stopped, replaced instead by averted eyes and a bubble of space around Marianne that was never violated. Children were hurriedly shooed away whenever she walked the streets.

Marianne understood it on some levels. She had one foot in a world the village had feared for generations and they thought interacting with her would draw the ire of the folk. Or at least their attention, which often equaled the same thing in stories.

However, she couldn’t help but think this was as much on them as her. If Lizzie had revealed herself that first night, Marianne doubted she’d have gone anywhere near the mansion. By the time Bog had shown himself Marianne had already staked her heart in that house. So if she was a social pariah now it all came down to the village valuing their own safety over doing right by strangers.

Okay so it wasn’t like she’d have stuck her neck out if the consequences could touch Dawn. That thought kept her from lashing out. Unfortunately her casual attitude to the village-wide shunning confounded Dawn and made her twice as suspicious as she might have been otherwise.

Marianne had seen the way Dawn tracked the spooked patrons of the pub, sky blue eyes gone stormy with distrust. She also felt when her sister studied her reactions and each shrug seemed to increase Dawn’s attentiveness. None of this was exactly a surprise. Dawn had been protective since Roland. What did surprise Marianne was how Sunny was taking it. He scowled unhappily at people who crossed the street to avoid her and loudly chastised the waiter when he didn’t ask for Marianne’s order.

Usually she’d assume Sunny was trying to earn points with Dawn but he didn’t even notice when her sister gave him approving looks. He was too busy being incensed on Marianne’s behalf. It was kind of sweet, actually.

The tension came to a head when they were having dinner on the longest day. Marianne had made a habit of getting in and out of the village as quickly as she could, given how uncomfortable her presence made them. So when Sunny brought up that the humans would be having a Midsummer’s Eve party too, it was the first she’d heard of it.

“There’s going to be a bonfire and Pare’s keeping the pub open all night. You have to stick around,” Sunny told her.

Marianne poked at the remains of her cock-a-leekie stew, biting her lip. She hadn’t thought she’d need to explain her absence tonight. Dawn had been very understanding about her disappearing acts. She generally assumed it was Roland-related, which wasn’t an unreasonable assumption to make. The bastard had been orbiting them at every opportunity when he wasn’t being mysteriously locked in closets at the mansion.

To Marianne’s chagrin, Dawn nodded happily at Sunny’s words. “You should have a night off! There’ll be singing and stories. Maybe we’ll finally get to know some history about Bogach.”

“I, er, sort of made plans for tonight.”

From the booth next to theirs, Roland’s head came popping over her shoulder. Thanks to Marianne’s status no one would sit at the booth she’d occupied after her first sleepover at the mansion. While having an eternally reserved seat was convenient in theory, no one wanted to sit in the booth directly behind her seat either. Roland took it at every meal and offered commentary on their conversations, impervious to the round of glares he received every time.

“What plans?” he demanded, practically breathing in her ear.

Dawn picked up her spoon and slapped it against Roland’s nose. “Bad Roland! No boundaries!”

Roland jerked back with a hand cupped over his nose. “Not the _face_ ,” he whined.

“It’s all he has going for him,” Sunny muttered into his pint.

Marianne grinned. Being stuck supervising Roland all week had not improved Sunny’s opinion of the man. Each day he’d been a little more fed up with his attitude and gleeful when misfortune struck, from getting trapped in closets to having buckets of soapy water dumped over his head. Marianne suspected the house hadn’t executed that particular prank. Sunny’s innocent face had been a touch too concentrated.

Dawn cast aside her spoon, clearly useless now that it had made contact with Roland’s skin, and turned her attention back to Marianne. “Now, since when do you have plans, Miss Homebody?”

“Since I was invited,” Marianne said, glancing away. She hated this part. Half-truths and lies of omission. For a minute, she wondered if she couldn’t convince Griselda everyone at the ball should pretend to be human so Dawn could come. Or she could tell Dawn it was a costume party?

But then what if she wanted to eat or drink something? No. Better not to chance that.

“Invited?” Roland scoffed. “Everyone in the village hates you.”

“Wow!” Marianne said. “The race for asshole of the year must have gotten tight because you are going all out right now.”

“It’s not like we’re in Ireland. Not everyone is going to be friendly,” Dawn argued. Then she frowned. “Well, okay, that’s a stereotype. The troubles, for instance - ”

“The point,” Roland interrupted, “is that no one here is going to invite you to anything. So you don’t have plans tonight, you’re just avoiding me.” He leered down at Marianne and she frantically searched her memory for a time she’d ever found his face attractive. “Scared of your feelings, Marianne?”

“Most people are unsettled by murderous rage,” she pointed out with a smile that showed too many teeth for a sane person.

“Just because everyone here’s a _jerk_ ,” Sunny declared loud enough for the room to hear him, “doesn’t mean that Marianne’s lying.”

Having her honesty defended made for an uncomfortable silence between Marianne and the other patrons who knew perfectly well how much lying she’d done. At least they were bound together by falsehoods. Nice to have something in common.

At the same time, Dawn’s face took on a speculative expression. “So are you saying a certain someone not in the village has invited you out tonight?”

The ‘certain someone’ couldn’t have been a clearer code for Thorn Guy. Dawn’s eyes sparkled with too much mounting excitement for her to mean anyone else. She’d been pretty casual about asking after Marianne’s so-called relationship with Bog but given his majesty’s behavior there had been no good news to report. It occurred to her once that Dawn might think Bog lived in the village and those references to his avoidance of her lent support to that conclusion. Of course now Marianne had blown that cover.

Constructing believable lies was harder than she’d thought. Maybe she’d underestimated Roland.

“He’s having a party with his family,” Marianne said. “Apparently it’s an old tradition.”

She hadn’t realized exactly how closely the pub’s other patrons had been following their conversation until the room went still. For the first time that week the locals stared straight at her. She realized that they knew what a family party with the folk really meant and to them it was no good thing. The terror in their eyes unsettled her. Was a ball at the mansion so terrible?

“Miss Marianne?”

She turned to look where Lizzie had frozen at the door separating the pub from the inn. The older woman looked so pale it made Marianne wonder what colors her scales had gone. Lizzie gestured to her, eyes scanning the room of alarmed villagers. “Miss Marianne, if I could have a moment…?”

Dawn frowned. “Did someone change their mind about the local ordinance banning all residents from talking to my sister?”

“It’s fine,” Marianne said, gently squeezing her shoulder.

“It really isn’t,” Sunny said. He frowned at Lizzie before turning an even deeper scowl on the whole room. “None of it is.”

“This is very sweet guys but I do actually want to talk to her. So if I could get around you, Dawn?” Marianne pointed to the fact she was trapped in the booth beside her sister.

Dawn simply crossed her arms, unmoved. “I think she should apologize first.”

“And I think this is getting ridiculous,” Marianne said. Then she sighed before slithering under the table and clambering between Sunny and Dawn’s legs.

“Marianne!”

“Dawn!” she whined back while levering herself up from the floor. “I’ve got this, okay? Just give us a minute.”

Marianne left the table grumbling unhappily behind her and a crowd of eyes following her every move. Lizzie stepped back to let her pass, closing the door behind them. She stopped in the center of the inn’s lobby and waited for the older woman to join her. It struck Marianne as incredibly odd how hesitant Lizzie appeared to come too close.

No, not hesitant. Frightened.

So many people were afraid of her now. Mostly she thought it was absurd. Another part of her, that part she’d unsuccessfully tried to bury when her mother died, found an intense satisfaction in it. She’d always liked fear better than _fixing_.

Marianne shook her head. No one was afraid of her, not really. All they saw when they looked at Marianne was the mansion looming behind her.

“I realize the last time we talked we did not part on the best of terms,” Lizzie said at last, raising her eyes from the floor. Her hands were clasped in front of her and Marianne watched her twist her wedding ring nervously on her finger.

“Yeah, the whole leaving me for the fairies to steal thing put me off.”

Lizzie flinched. “I’m not proud. None of us are proud.”

“You’re also not sorry,” Marianne said with a shrug. “It is what it is. If I said no hard feelings I’d be lying but I’m not bent on revenge or anything.”

Around and around Lizzie’s wedding ring went, brief flashes of gold between her fingers. “That isn’t our concern. You’ve put yourself in grave danger and there is nothing we can do to aid you.”

Marianne waved her off. The last thing she wanted was a lecture about her choices. “I’m not looking for your aid. The king and I have an agreement.”

“These creatures do not keep to the same rules as you and I.”

“No, they actually keep their word.”

“And they twist it to mean whatever they please!” Lizzie snapped. “You may believe you’ve woven this agreement finely enough to be your shield but it is nothing but gossamer in the hands of the Fae. The instant it suits them they will pull it into a shape you no longer recognize. Worse, you won’t recognize yourself, either.”

“Did you know about the old king?”

The older woman faltered. “The… the old king?”

Marianne searched her face and while there was plenty of confusion, she saw recognition, too. “Bog’s father. Did you know he was human?”

The color fled from Lizzie’s skin once more. “Who told you that?”

“You don’t need to know,” she said. Marianne would sooner eat glass than throw Thang under the bus. “But I do think I have a better sense of Bog’s nature than you’ve given me credit for.”

Lizzie shook her head. “You’ve romanticized him.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’ve met the man’s mother - ”

“He’s not a man,” Lizzie interrupted. “No matter what may be in his blood, the Fae in him is what counts.”

Marianne threw up her hands. “Maybe I like that! Maybe I like pixies and goblins and furry gopher things and the disembodied curtain rustlers. I get that you had a bad experience but I’ve heard recently that the ‘creatures’ that took you also miss you like crazy.”

The laugh that emerged from Lizzie’s throat clawed its way out with teeth cut on bitterness. “Oh, they miss me, do they? How touching. How sweet. Perhaps if you have the opportunity, Miss Marianne, you could ask if they remember my name.”

Marianne frowned. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“That’s for you to put together now. I won’t waste any more of your time trying to explain the nature of things.” Lizzie sighed. “I didn’t mean to do it at all but I couldn’t help myself. What I wanted to ask was if there were any chance this little family party of yours might not be the revels the Fae once had on Midsummer’s Eve.”

Marianne shrugged. “I don’t know about what they once did but they’re having a ball tonight. The Seelie Court’s been invited.”

Lizzie hissed out a breath. “Both courts and all their hangers on filling up that mansion? It really is like the old days.” She hugged herself then as her eyes darted away. “We’ll have to cancel the bonfire, keep the pub closed. If we’re quiet and line our doors and windows with primroses we might bring everyone through the night.”

“Wait,” Marianne said, holding up one finger as though to pause the flow of Lizzie’s thoughts. “Are you saying you think some of the folk are going to come to the village?”

“The shortest night functions much as the boundary of midnight. Our worlds will be touching and the mansion’s gates will be no more protection for us than a spider’s web.”

Well, that explained the fearful response she’d gotten to the idea of a fairy party tonight. “So you guys think that even though there’s a rocking ball going on up at the mansion they just won’t be able to resist you?”

“An opportunity to lure women, steal children? No, I rather think they’ll jump at the chance,” Lizzie said. She still held herself tightly, Marianne’s doubts not penetrating the heavy layer of remembered terror from decades past.

Marianne scowled. “That’s unacceptable.” She began to pace in front of Lizzie, although she should have known better. Every step just got her angrier. “After all the work Griselda put in this week, pulling everything together in time for tonight, some ungrateful little bastards think stealing people is more important? She slaved over the menu, the decorations, practically listened to every song on my iPod to get the playlist right - ”

“Miss Marianne?”

“How dare they! The sheer ingratitude, acting as if this is all so easy for her. After all she’s been through!”

As Marianne continued to pace, hands curling into fists, she missed Lizzie backing away. “Please, miss…”

“Snub Griselda, steal from the village. And then what? Do they think they’ll be allowed to bring crying children and hypnotized people into my mansion? Will they come creeping onto my property and use our ball as a cover?”

Marianne swung around, arm outstretched as she pointed at Lizzie. “Nothing is canceled for tonight! Absolutely nothing. You have your drinks and your stories. Have the bonfire. If a single Fae soul thinks to leave Bogach Mansion before dawn, I will teach them a lesson in etiquette they will remember through the next millennium.”

The weather had taken a turn. Gray clouds swarmed the clear blue sky, casting shadows inside the lobby. A sharp wind shook its fist against the windows and Marianne could almost feel it rattling in her bones.

“I’m so sorry, my lady,” Lizzie whispered, barely audible over the shriek of branches on glass. “I swear I did not mean to upset you.” She curled in on herself and for a moment Marianne could have sworn she saw the glimmer of scales on her cheek.

All the outrage that had clogged up her thoughts began to fade in the face of Lizzie’s undisguised terror. She felt suddenly exhausted and more than a little confused. “You’re not responsible for my feelings,” Marianne said. These days figuring out what was going to set her off was like traversing a minefield. She pushed her hair out of her face and sighed. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

Lizzie shook her head frantically. “I overstepped. Please think nothing of it.”

Marianne wanted to find the right thing to say to push back the terror on the older woman’s face. She took a step closer and Lizzie shrank away.

“I should pass the message along to the others, my lady. Thank you for indulging us.” Lizzie gave a shaky half-curtsy before fleeing the inn.

Seeing a grown woman scamper out the door in fear of her did nothing to set Marianne at ease. She’d almost gone back into the pub when the weight of the past five minutes really hit her. Her hand froze, hovering over the doorknob as she remembered the abrupt change in weather coming just as her temper had boiled. There had been a horrible storm the night she escaped Bog’s clutches, too.

His majesty insisted she had magic.

And Lizzie had stopped calling her Miss Marianne somewhere in the middle there, hadn’t she? Stranger still, she didn’t think it was weird. She’d felt instantly comfortable. Even protective.

All right, so her two worlds were bleeding into each other. Marianne could handle that. She’d need to be careful of her temper around the village. The image of summoning an isolated tornado to throw Roland into the North Sea alternately thrilled and horrified her. Besides, what if she hurt Dawn by mistake? The whole point in leaving California was to stop that from happening.

Her old pal anxiety knocked on the door and Marianne determinedly gave her whole body a shake. This was not how she had wanted this day to go. She was so fed up with her damned feelings getting all tangled and then marshaling the guilt parade.

So they had trouble right there in River City. Tomorrow’s Marianne could deal with it. Today’s Marianne needed to get her ass in gear for the party. Too much hung in the balance for her to have a nervous breakdown now. Time to put on her Lady Marianne hat.

She pulled it together enough to give Dawn a hug goodbye. She even flipped off Roland without worrying too much about accidentally hexing him. On her walk back up to the mansion she felt the lingering fear and certain doom slide away. Bogach rose up high, cloaked in gray clouds, and Marianne wanted to run the rest of the way until the house swallowed her up.

Her handmaidens flew out to meet her as she passed the gate, nuzzling at her hair and whistling three different songs. That made it a little difficult to figure out what each one was singing. Marianne waited until they settled down on her shoulders, the green one curled in her left hand. The gate had gradually drifted closed behind her and the soft clang of them closing gave her pause.

Lizzie had said the gate wouldn’t hold back the Fae tonight. But maybe, if the house had given her the influence Bog seemed to think it had, she could ask it a favor.

Marianne reached out and wrapped her free hand around the decorative vines. Then she closed her eyes. The metal went hot under her touch almost immediately but it didn’t hurt. She felt as though a massive presence had just leaned forward to look at her.

“I need these gates locked,” she murmured. “Until the sun rises. No one comes in and no one goes out without my explicit permission. Please?”

The vine beneath her hand began to writhe. Marianne drew back, opening her eyes to see the metal flexing and twisting until the crease where the gate was meant to open disappeared. She grinned. “I knew I could count on you. Shit, I can’t say that about most _people_.”

With the house’s implicit cooperation, Marianne allowed herself to feel a little excited about the ball. Sure, she was still half convinced there was some real political chess-playing going on and that Bog had traumatic memories from the past souring the prospect. But come on, she was going to a literal fairy ball in a mansion that had once hosted the kinds of parties where there were dance cards and orchestras. If she didn’t think it would upset Bog she would constantly be asking him questions about what it had been like a century or two ago.

When her hand made contact with the doors to the house, she wished she could have a glimpse of one of those beautiful, long-past balls. So it shouldn’t have startled her when a flood of gaslights poured through the doors and lit up the spotless, nearly new foyer.

Marianne heard laughter from the dining room, the clinking of glass on wood, and the scrape of forks and knives. Then one of her favorite sounds began filtering out of the ballroom. An orchestra tuning up.

Her eyes caught movement at the top of the stairs. A young man with a tuft of white hair stared down as servants moved quickly to pull open the ballroom doors. The crooked smile on his face appeared nailed onto bone, forbidden from slipping. He waved at someone and Marianne followed his gaze.

A woman stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her dress glowed a beautiful emerald while the light sparkled in the piles of auburn hair that coiled around her scalp. Something about those colors tugged at her memory. As she stared the woman turned to stare back. For a moment all that seemed odd about her were the three dark lines that ran straight down her face. Haunted green eyes pinned Marianne in the doorway as the woman lifted one fine-boned hand to tap gently at her marked cheek.

Her entire face shuddered in a way that flesh couldn’t. The three dark lines widened as the woman’s profile came apart and beneath all that luscious hair lay a void. Those three lines were strips of what used to be a beauty trembling like shredded canvas battered by wind.

Between one blink and the next Marianne came back to the present. Her handmaidens fluttered nervously around her head and she struggled to catch her breath. She swallowed hard.

Maybe she didn’t want to know about Bogach’s history after all.

Since she had at least half an hour before she needed to throw herself in the bath, Marianne decided she’d take a nap. She didn’t exactly know why she thought this was a good idea since if she slept she’d wake up hating the universe but she just liked the thought of lying down for a little while. If someone suggested her nerves were shot she would have been moved to violence. Luckily her handmaidens merely tucked her gently into bed and then swooped out of her sight.

As naps typically went for her when she knew she didn’t have the option of just going to bed while the sun was still out, Marianne spent the time studying the creases in her pillow. Her hair tumbled down into her eyes, which meant she needed to get it cut again. No time for that before the ball. She hadn’t even thought about clothes until a day ago. None of the goblins wore clothes and Griselda wore what looked like a potato sack.

Luckily she had a suit packed in her bag. It hung in the closet, mostly wrinkle-free, waiting for her to dress it up with heels and make-up. She figured she could get away with bluffing the goblins about modern fashion. Stuff would probably catch on but Marianne trusted her to have her back. Bribing her with make-up was also an option.

She picked idly at the blankets, trying to think of anything to distract her from what she’d seen in the foyer. Marianne didn’t want that vision floating in her brain tonight. With so much going on she really wanted to be both mentally and emotionally stable. The appearance of those two figures didn’t lend themselves to either. Plus she didn’t know how she felt about possibly having been stared at by an echo of the past.

This felt like a great time to start compartmentalizing the shit in her life she just didn’t have the time to process. If she could do anything with skill, it was swallow down inconvenient emotions.

Marianne snorted. That sounded more like California mortal Marianne rather than the Lady Marianne who went around alternately terrorizing and befriending goblins. Scotland hadn’t done wonders for her emotional control.

To be fair to Scotland, they both knew Roland had done the damage first. She just hadn’t gotten around to fixing it. Half the time she didn’t want to fix it at all. Being out of control had its enticements, particularly in the right company.

The soft hush of pixie petal dresses whispered by her ear. Marianne opened her eyes to see her handmaidens hovering uncertainly by her cheek. It hit her that she’d drifted off at some point. Now a fire crackled in the grate and she could see the glow of the bathroom’s chandelier reaching through the doorway. The dark clouds from earlier had only grown blacker although they were nowhere near nightfall.

“Are we still good on time?” she asked.

The pixies nodded to reassure her but that didn’t stop them from hurrying her into the bath. Marianne appreciated the fact they hadn’t used the purple cosmic water this time. The green handmaiden stayed with her to help rinse shampoo out of her hair while the other two inspected the few lotions Marianne owned. She noticed the derisive upward turn of their noses and smirked.

“So long as you aren’t breaking any agreements I have with his majesty, you guys don’t have to stick to mortal cosmetics if you don’t want - ” She didn’t get to finish giving permission before her handmaidens all gave excited whistles and swooped out of the room. Marianne spat a wet strand of hair out of her mouth. “Taking that as a yes, then.”

She got out of the bath and tied her robe to the sound of glass thudding on wood. By the time Marianne got into the bedroom the vanity had been overwhelmed with a small army of bottles that threatened to swallow up the make-up she’d laid out. A few of the bottles looked as though they’d been made purely of jagged glass shards. She decided to strike those off the list immediately since if she couldn’t open it without cutting herself, that wasn’t a good beginning.

The handmaidens huffed but they disappeared the offending bottles anyway. Marianne sat on the ivory stool in front of the vanity to consider the remaining choices. An incredibly slender vial caught her attention. It looked like a ball of smoke gradually floated from the bottom of the glass to the top before drifting back again. Maybe it was perfume? She slowly drew out the stopper.

Marianne admitted to herself she expected disaster. The room filling with smoke or something like that. Instead the vial just sat there, ball of smoke bobbing harmlessly at its opening. She let out a sigh. “Okay, I’m going to need some help here guys.”

The handmaidens had been fussing with her wet hair but at her request, the red one darted down to assist. Marianne watched the pixie point to bottles and then mime its application. Turned out the smoke was like Fae hairspray. Go figure.

At last Marianne narrowed down the choices. She didn’t pick any of the scented bottles, mostly because they all smelled like memories and that absolutely creeped her out. The silent contemplation of the universe perfume had stolen twenty minutes of her life. She’d stick to the iris perfume from L’Occitane.

In fact she went almost entirely human in terms of cosmetics. A green pyramid bottle won since it held a lotion that instantly dried and styled her hair. The handmaidens had all let out a relieved sigh at that choice. Then she picked a squat brown bottle with quicksilver fluid that stained her nails any color scheme she chose. Marianne decided on deep purple tipped with shimmering gold. It looked more like stardust than metal and had her grinning the way she hadn’t since childhood.

She’d cleared the vanity of anything otherworldly and started on her eyeshadow when someone knocked on the door.

“Lady Mariannne?” Stuff called from the other side.

Marianne smiled. “Come in, Stuff.”

Instead of using the door, Stuff came rolling out of the fireplace. The goblin straightened out and brushed lingering embers off her skin. “Griselda’s outside, too. Something about the music?”

Marianne glanced over to her iPod playing _Black Sheep_ by Gin Wigmore while charging. The battery should be full up but she didn’t want to leave it to chance. “It’s that time already?”

Stuff shrugged. “No one from the other court will show up until sundown but plenty under the hill are eager to get a look at you, my lady.”

“No pressure,” Marianne said. Then she raised her voice. “You can come in too, Griselda.”

“Oh good,” Griselda said, inexplicably coming in through the bathroom door. Her potato sack had been replaced with an intricately woven green moss dress and her red hair fizzled with static electricity. “When Stuff mentioned you’d be helping her prepare for the ball, I thought I’d come along and see if I could lend a hand.”

“You’re not too busy?” Marianne asked. She couldn’t image there weren’t a million last minute details for Griselda to handle. “I thought you just needed my iPod.”

Griselda flapped a hand while her hair sparked. “The house has plenty of echoes stored in that ballroom to keep any sensible goblin entertained this early in the night.” She hopped up onto the bed and began to study Marianne at her leisure.

 _No pressure_ , Marianne repeated to herself as she returned to applying her eyeshadow. She’d decided on a deep, smoky purple for the drama. Stuff clambered up onto the stool beside her, watching as intently as Griselda while Marianne carefully blended her colors.

Griselda let out a pleased hum. “That’s a very pretty nail color, dear.”

Marianne was a little busy trying to get her eyeliner sharp enough to be banned by the TSA so she just hummed an affirmative.

Beside her, Stuff grunted. “Suppose it’ll flatter the Seelie well enough. And she’s still using mostly human pretties.”

Marianne glanced at her. “Seelie?”

Stuff pointed. “Your nails. And the hair. That’s Seelie-make. Straight from their mines, though how your pixies got in and out without being smashed is a mystery.” Her handmaidens perched haughtily on the top of the vanity’s mirror, inspecting their lethal nails. Stuff grinned up at them. “You’re right. Not mysterious at all.”

“You couldn’t smash these in the traditional sense,” Griselda corrected. “Too fleshy.”

“Okay,” Marianne interrupted, setting down her eyeliner. “You’ve lost me.”

Griselda looked suddenly alarmed. “Lost you where? I still see you.”

Stuff let her head thunk down on the table. “Why does no one but me remember how to talk to humans?” she muttered under her breath.

The mother of the Unseelie King scowled. “What was that?”

“I have a plan!” Marianne interrupted. The last thing she wanted was for one of her favorite goblins to be tossed into a dungeon for being rude to Griselda. “I’ll do up Stuff’s face and Griselda, you can explain pixies to me. It sounds like there’s a lot more to them than I knew.”

Griselda brightened. “If you’d like me to, dear.”

“Absolutely. No one could do it better,” Marianne assured her. When she looked down at Stuff, the goblin was giving her a grateful smile.

As Griselda cleared her throat to begin, Marianne quickly picked out the products she knew would work best. They’d found that powders didn’t adhere right to Stuff’s skin so liquids, creams and stains were their best options.

“You see, dear, our lands don’t produce any paints or scents like you and the Seelie do.”

She probably could have guessed that if she’d given it any thought. Stuff wouldn’t have been excited by chapstick if she had easy access to magic cosmetics.

“Pixies are the only creatures that make such things and we don’t grow them in our dirt.” Then Griselda laughed. “Not that that means much since even in Seelie there’s only a single pixie tree in the Queen’s garden. It’s not as though they’re champion growers themselves.”

Marianne frowned thoughtfully as she lined Stuff’s eyes. “Then how did…?”

“How did your handmaidens get here?” Griselda looked out the window at the increasingly black clouds. “There was a storm. It started in our home but it got bad enough that it rolled across the border and shook the Queen’s palace. They say the pixie tree’s blossoms were on the verge of opening but the storm knocked them from their branches. Most of them broke into pieces as they hit the ground but a very few were light enough to travel on the wind back to our court. The rain made our dirt into sludge and the blossoms sank deep into the mire of it all. Then, goodness me, I think nearly a decade passed before anyone found what became of them.”

“Bloomed right out of the ground,” Stuff mumbled, taking care not to move her face as Marianne brushed on mascara.

“Poor things,” Griselda sighed.

“Poor things? It sounds like they were lucky to survive.” By the way the goblins were looking at her with a mix of pity and amusement, she’d gotten it wrong.

“The Queen and her court will be accompanied by their handmaidens tonight. You’ll see what a real pixie is meant to look like and why no Seelie would consent to take yours,” Griselda said.

The pixies in question gave the saddest little whistle as all three listlessly drifted away into the dressing room. Marianne watched them go, torn between finishing with Stuff and going to comfort her ladies. She turned a critical eye on the goblin’s painted face, bright glittering gold eyeshadow, winged eyeliner and all. “Stuff, I think I’m done here if you’re all right putting on the lipstick by yourself…?”

Stuff nudged her arm. “Go on. You know where you should be.”

Marianne let herself into the dressing room, ignoring Griselda’s lilting, “Have we upset them?” She closed the door behind her and then promptly felt like an idiot since there weren’t any lights.

“Good one, Marianne,” she muttered. Then she cleared her throat. “Um, girls? Ladies? Are you okay in here?” She stretched out a hand in the dark and listened for the rustle of petal dresses.

A single muted whistle echoed from the somewhere in the center of the room.

She tried smiling. “Hey now, let’s not be maudlin. I never would have gotten to meet you if you weren’t different from the other pixies.”

Because the privilege of meeting Marianne Fairfield was so great that being shunned from your home and disdained by your people paled in comparison? Wow, she couldn’t comfort anyone effectively today.

“Being the weird one isn’t all that bad,” Marianne said, taking a few tentative steps into the dark with her hand still out. She couldn’t quite remember how they’d arranged the furniture in there and she didn’t want to brain herself on a dresser. “And if I’m a weird one and you’re the weird ones, then we’re a perfect fit. If we don’t hang together we will certainly hang… Wait no, that’s not… That’s for forming a union, not cheering people up.”

Her shoulders slumped and she only just kept herself from smearing her make-up by rubbing her hands over her face. Instead she settled for pinching the bridge of her nose. “Guys, I’m pretty freaked out about acting like an idiot in front of two courts and making Bog regret ever agreeing to this. I really, really don’t feel up to the task of being charming and perfect and helping co-host and - ” Marianne pinched harder to keep the burn of tears out of her eyes. “I don’t know how to _be_ this. Mom had it down but I’m just playing make believe. And my imagination isn’t that flexible!”

Knees feeling weaker by the second, Marianne took a seat on the floor and pulled her robe tight around her body. “How far can I really get by pretending I know what I’m doing? I don’t even have a dress.” She snorted. “Some Lady Marianne.”

Suddenly the pixies let out a chorus of defiant whistling, zooming over Marianne’s head to push open the door. Light flooded into the dressing room and after a few blinks she began to make sense of what she was seeing.

It appeared to be very much like a dress. Except not precisely. She could see where the skirt attached onto the fastenings on the bodice. Although, no, bodice wasn’t right.

Marianne stood up and came closer to examine what her handmaidens had created. The skirt was voluminous, made of blackened rose petals stitched together in row after row of implausibly shimmering dead flowers. They were certainly crinkled as dead rose petals did but when she dared touch one, it felt like silk.

Her eyes traced the waist of the skirt to where it was attached with simple buttons made of pure amber. She could see how it would fit her. Two small buttons at her hips, one slightly larger in front where the folds of the skirt parted to reveal her legs. Not that her legs would actually be revealed because without the huge skirt it appeared that her handmaidens had created the sleekest jumpsuit in the history of fashion. It had been created from the same petals as the skirt except these couldn’t be mistaken for dead. They were incredibly smooth and layered so tightly she almost couldn’t see where one petal began and another ended.

With such ornate skirts, it made sense to leave the top sleeveless. Marianne just didn’t know how she felt about how deep the neckline plunged. The valley between her breasts would be completely exposed, stopping only at the bottom of her sternum where a short row of amber buttons marched down to her waist.

She looked around the back of the dress and gasped. There was no petal material above the waist. No, the front of the jumpsuit was to be weighted down by the intricate weave of slender amber threads cascading down her naked back. At the very bottom what could have been mistaken for another amber button hung where the small of her back would be. But the way it dangled from the threads as though the amber had welled up and dripped down into this one large jewel… Yeah, there was no way when she danced anyone would mistake it for a button.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. Marianne couldn’t wear that. Could she?

“Oh, what exquisite work,” Griselda exclaimed behind her. She appeared by Marianne’s elbow, nodding her approval. “Now there is a gown worthy of the lady of this mansion.”

Lady? “Oh! So that’s why everyone calls me Lady Marianne. Got it.” She grinned. Nice to solve a mystery.

Griselda laughed. “You didn’t know that, dear? You spilled sweat, blood, and tears in Bogach and still you didn’t think you were its lady? It must be difficult indeed to impress a human house.”

Marianne debated whether she should tell Griselda human houses were bought, not impressed. But what did she know? People talked about making houses their homes all the time. What was that but impressing themselves upon it?

“But that reminds me, dear. Did you want any song in particular for your introduction?” Griselda asked.

Despite feeling petrified by the notion of coming into a room with everyone staring, one song immediately popped into her head. “Actually, yeah.”

The rest of her preparations went by in a dizzy blur of fluttering handmaidens and Stuff trying to convince her to wear colored lipstick. Marianne had to argue the virtue of highlighting one feature as she carefully applied clear lipgloss. Her lips would shimmer but she’d deliberately made her eyes the main attraction tonight. With the contrast of the dark colors they almost glowed like whiskey in firelight.

Meanwhile her handmaidens had threaded a few dots of amber through the waves of her hair before helping her slip on the Dress. Capital letter absolutely necessary.

She’d been excited to find they’d crafted high-heeled boots out of the same material as the Dress. They were impossibly comfortable and brought her pretty close to six feet tall.

The Dress itself also turned out to be comfortable. Marianne expected the weight of all that amber to crush but it felt gentle on her skin and, to her relief, pulled the petal material tight against her breasts. There wouldn’t be any horrible embarrassments tonight.

Her handmaidens attached the skirts and with the additional height from the shoes Marianne didn’t have to worry about tripping over the hem. The material was much lighter than it looked, too. Overall she knew she’d be able to maneuver in this dress. The visions she’d had of tripping over her skirts and falling on her face began to fade away.

At last they were finished and Marianne handed her iPod over to Griselda. The goblin mother had tears welling in her eyes and even Stuff looked misty.

Marianne pointed at them sternly. “Don’t you dare cry or I’m going to assume it’s because I’m too hideous to be seen in public.”

“Oh, I just can’t wait for him to see you.” Griselda’s voice wobbled and she used her dress to dab at her eyes.

Marianne quickly averted her gaze. “Seriously, I have sympathetic tear ducts and this make-up isn’t water proof. No crying!”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Stuff hurrying Griselda toward the door. “Of course, my lady. Take your time.”

“Yes, do. The music won’t start without you!” Griselda called as she was hustled out into the hall.

Blessed with silence once again, Marianne took a deep breath while her handmaidens flitted around her dress to smooth and fluff as needed. She tried to think of what her mother would do before a performance.

“I always feel sick to my stomach,” she’d whispered to Marianne while tucking Dawn into bed. “But do you know what I do?”

“No,” Marianne said in the present. “What do you do?”

“Let the light blind me. Everything is so bright when you first step out that it’s all you can see. Maybe there are people behind it. Maybe not. What matters is the light. Your story happens there and it can’t go on without you. So just keep your eyes where the light is. The shadows take care of themselves.”

“The shadows take care of themselves,” Marianne repeated. Then she pulled her shoulders back, stood tall and reached for the door.

Griselda hadn’t been kidding about the music waiting for her. The instant she put a toe on the top of the staircase, Lorde’s _Yellow Flicker Beat_ started to play. Marianne knew she was being a tad dramatic but she needed the confidence boost.

As Marianne began to walk down the stairs she took comfort in the quiet fluttering of her handmaidens floating gracefully behind her. She’d actually started to smile a little at the thought that they’d grab her if she did fall down when she saw the sea of eyes peering up at her from the entrance hall. Already there were more goblins than she’d ever seen at a single time and she hadn’t even made it to the ballroom.

Marianne turned her attention to the mansion. Griselda had done a beautiful job bringing out the forest theme already woven into the architecture. The wallpaper rustled, the deep black green transformed into hedges. The vines on the staircase’s handrail were real plants now. The gaslight on the chandelier had been replaced with orbs of captive fireflies. And everything, absolutely everything, sparkled with pearls of morning dew.

By the time Marianne was actually amongst the goblins she’d calmed down enough to be able to smile when a goblin that looked related to Brutus fell over himself to open up a path for her. She caught snatches of whispers over the music as she walked towards the open ballroom doors.

“Move, you great lump!”

“Shh, I’m trying to hear the song.”

“Trying to hear - Are you mad? The Lady Marianne is right there and you’re - ”

“Don’t touch the dress! Quick, move!”

Nice to know she wasn’t the only one feeling nervous.

As she passed the ballroom doors she only had a moment to notice that the carved tree had come alive and rooted itself to the floor before her eyes fixed on the Bog King towering over his subjects. She froze and so did he.

Later she’d admire what Griselda had done to the jagged ballroom chandelier, separating it from the ceiling and letting glowing fragments float around and between partygoers. She’d see Thang trying to find a less clumsy way to compliment Stuff’s make-up. She’d wave at Brutus and even take a moment to wonder if the way a few of the mirrors were shivering meant her curtain-rustlers could inhabit glass. But, again, that was for later.

Bog looked much like he always did, clasping his staff and observing her with his human blue eyes. Although Griselda had changed her appearance for this ball, Bog had done nothing. He stood tall, wings folded against his back, and Marianne couldn’t catch her breath.

Maybe it wasn’t how he looked. It was how he looked at _her_.

His eyes had wavered from her face for only a moment, likely taking in her dress, before they returned and... Stayed. Just stayed. Marianne didn’t know what to do with the weight of that gaze on her.

At a loss, she dipped briefly into a curtsy. Although it wasn’t at all like a real curtsy to a king should be. For one it was shallow and for another she hadn’t broken eye contact. But a tiny smile flickered on Bog’s face so she couldn’t regret it.

Then, to her delight, he bent at the waist and bowed _back_.

“Lady Marianne.” The title sounded miles different in Bog’s mouth. She could feel it in the trembling amber at her back and the jewels in her hair.

Additionally, it let her know they were being formal with each other in front of the crowd.

“Your majesty,” she murmured with a deferential tilt of her head. That faint grin was back on his face. He knew she didn’t have a deferential bone in her body.

“I believe you are owed a dance this night.”

“Am I?” Marianne looked up at him through her lashes, no mean feat given how far away he was. “You would know better than I what I am owed, your majesty.”

Ha! She was rocking this court-speak.

“Truly? My impression was that no one in the cosmos knows better than you.”

It took a lot of control to only quirk an eyebrow up at Bog instead of flipping him off. She made a mental note to pay him back for that little remark later.

Oh hell, why wait?

“Well, if you feel you need to rescind your offer…” she trailed off, looking away with a disappointed sigh.

Bog frowned. “That was not my meaning.”

“You did say you only _believed_ I was owed. That’s hardly a statement of fact.” Marianne had begun to notice how little goblin heads were turning back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.

“Then let me speak plainer. You are owed a dance,” Bog said, shoulder plates flaring once in irritation.

Trouble was that Marianne had shaken off the glow of being stared at like the only point of light in the universe and was instead remembering the week of avoidance, how Bog couldn’t grunt out more than a few syllables before disappearing. Now, like Sweeney Todd, she would have vengeance.

She hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I care for my dances to be owed me.”

Bog sputtered. She’d gotten him to sputter in front of his court. Too bad she wasn’t done yet.

“The notion isn’t an appealing one, your majesty. A dance owed but not desired. If you feel you’re in my debt then consider it forgiven. You owe me no dances this night.”

The Bog King all but flailed at that. His eyes narrowed in confusion and after a moment he gestured for her to approach. She wouldn’t have but he looked so lost. Marianne came within a foot of him and quite suddenly every nearby goblin withdrew to a polite distance.

Bog leaned down, speaking quietly. “This isn’t going well, is it?”

“What was your first clue?” She wanted to roll her eyes but the court would see. “A week ago you say you want to dance with me, then you avoid me like the plague and tonight I get told you’re basically just doing me a favor?”

“I told you that’s not how I intended - ”

“Intentions aren’t magic, Bog. Even I didn’t know I was angry until that little snipe about my knowing everything.” She held up a hand to keep him from interrupting her. “I can appreciate that throwing an entire ball for the sole purpose of one dance is a lot of pressure but you are not the only one feeling it. I’m going in blind tonight and it would be nice to feel like you want me to be here.”

“I do.” Bog took her hand, gently stroking her fingers. “I do want you.”

Marianne stared up at him and waited for him to finish his sentence. The silence continued. “Want me…?” she prompted.

His brows pinched together. “Yes?”

“You didn’t finish.”

Bog continued to look puzzled, although Marianne didn’t know why. It was a simple enough thing to tell someone whether you wanted them to be at an event or not. By only saying he did want her he left a gaping hole of possibilities at her feet. You could easily follow up ‘I want you’ with ‘to get out of my house already’. Or even an underwhelming ‘I want you to help me with this tricky social situation but please do let me off the hook dance-wise.’

Griselda chose that moment to pop up between them, causing Bog to drop her hand. “Hello, dear! Has my son mentioned how beautiful you look yet?”

Bog groaned. “Mother, this is not the time.”

His mother smacked his arm. “There is never a wrong time to remind a beautiful girl that you’ve got eyes. Honestly, what is Marianne going to think? It’s as much an insult to her pixies as it is to her not to acknowledge how lovely she is and you know how attached she is to them.”

Marianne grinned. Turned out that an ageless creature of legend being scolded by their mothers served as a brilliant icebreaker. Already the rapt goblins around them had begun to pick up their own conversations and few swayed to the music. She didn’t kid herself, though. There were still a multitude of eyes pointed her way.

“I appreciate your help, Griselda, but I already know what his majesty thinks of me,” she said.

Bog’s wings gave a nervous twitch. “You do?”

Her grin turned devious. “Of course I do. It’s not every day I get called a mortal wretch.”

This earned Bog another smack.

“Mother!”

“It’s a wonder you were asked to dance at all,” Griselda chided. “And here you are whinging at the thought of paying the lady a compliment. Hopeless!” She threw her hands into the air and stormed off, hair sparking through the crowd.

Bog sighed, leaning heavily on his staff. “Do you feel avenged now?”

Marianne considered. “That depends. How long do you think she’ll remind you of this after tonight?”

“At least a hundred years, I should imagine.” He let out another deep sigh and it made her feel just a touch sorry for him.

“In that case I think I’ll forgive you.” Marianne glanced over to where she could still see Griselda’s hair fizzing. “Even if I do envy you.”

Bog peered down at her. “Envy me?”

“A mother’s love is a very particular kind. Once it’s gone - ” Marianne pinched her lips shut, startled by the sudden lump in her throat. She forced herself to swallow it down and shook her head. “Never mind.”

A long-fingered, clawed hand reached for her and she couldn’t think of a more comforting sight. “Marianne, I - ”

The floor beneath them trembled. For that matter, the floors above them did as well. Just as it had at the mansion’s gates, she could feel an otherworldly attention turn towards her. She sensed a question on the air and the impression of… guests?

Bog growled. “Damned interlopers.”

Griselda popped up once again but now her expression was one of delight. “They’re early!” She quickly patted Marianne’s hand. “After all I’ve told the Queen, it’s no wonder she’s eager to meet you.”

Oh good, Griselda had been chatting to a foreign queen all about a random mortal girl living on top of her son’s hill. A complete stranger in a position of mind-boggling power probably knew her life story. The instant nausea that thought inspired forced Marianne to loop her arm through Bog’s and hold on for dear life.

His majesty’s wings spread and fluttered behind him as he leaned over her, probably worried about how white her face had gone. “What is it? What do you need?”

She needed to make better life choices is what she needed. Although right that moment she would have settled for a less impulsive personality and a guarantee her mouth wouldn’t run away from her in front of royalty. Thank God there wasn’t anything in her agreement with Bog about mortally offending his counterpart in the Seelie Court.

In what she hoped would be a pattern of restraint for the evening, Marianne didn’t say any of that. She fixed a smile on her face and gave Bog’s arm a squeeze. “Promise to do all the talking?”

The trembling in the floor had increased but that was hardly a new thing for a California native. Around the ballroom the mirrors became gradually less reflective and more shining curtains of liquid silver.

Apparently none of that was phasing Bog, whose focus remained fixed on Marianne. His eyes swept over her as though searching for an ailment. “You don’t intend to speak?”

“I don’t want to create _another_ problem you’ll be dealing with a hundred years from now.” She’d meant it to sound like a joke but it had come out too softly for that.

Bog shook his head, lips twisting in a wry smile. “Marianne, if I cared for these creatures’ opinions there would have been parties in this mansion long before your arrival. No, you are more like to take offense than give it with their sort.”

A blast of fog slithered across the ballroom floor, leaking out of every mirror. Marianne felt like she should be paying more attention to the Seelie Court’s grand entrance but Bog’s eyes had yet to leave her face. She watched the blue of them and their warm, human vulnerability as his gaze slid to her lips.

The coldest laugh Marianne had ever heard shattered the hush of the ballroom. As long as she lived, she didn’t think she’d ever hear another supposed expression of mirth that felt so much like being stabbed by a blizzard.

“These mortals may be frail but if this one should shrivel up and die in the time it takes to greet me, Bog, even I will be surprised.”

What had been a polite space in a crowd became a gaping chasm as every goblin squeezed against the two farthest walls from where the Bog King stood. Marianne saw the moment his face hardened, teeth grit as he turned to face the mirror peeling open behind them. At the same time her handmaidens gave frightened squeaks and dove to cling to the amber threads at her back. Those three shuddering bodies and Bog’s arm were the only things to stop her from running when she saw the Queen of the Seelie Court.

Her beauty did not strike. It terrified.

The Queen stood equal to Bog in height, although stood did not seem accurate since Marianne could see no evidence of feet. Her skirts pooled around her in a mobile lake of blue quartz. The blue of her poet sleeves dripped from her wrists and merged into that lake as she approached in one sinuous glide.

Marianne wished very badly for a primrose petal. Her mind struggled to understand what part of the Queen was dress and what was flesh. Movement caused the blue skin on her hand to ripple, exposing what looked like the inside of a cracked geode. Instead of hair, her scalp had sprouted a tall cluster of sharp diamonds.

The Queen’s eyes drifted to Marianne. They were void of a pupil and white as her diamonds.

“ _Aura_ ,” Bog said and Marianne half-expected him to spit out a tooth, he was grinding them together so hard.

Aura continued to look at Marianne. Her head tilted to the left and for a moment her cheek gaped open to show a row of shining pearl teeth before her liquid skin closed once more. “She does not appear infirm.”

“You appear to be leaking.”

At last those eyes turned to Bog and Marianne could breathe again.

“You always were a grumpy child,” Aura remarked. “It’s been such a long time, Bog. Won’t you muster a smile for an old friend?”

“Friend is not the word.”

“Is it the word for her?” The Queen’s eyes swung back to Marianne. “I’ve heard tell of so many words for your mortal.”

“The only words you need to address her are ‘Lady’ and ‘Fairfield’,” Bog said.

That startled Marianne. She couldn’t recall a soul from Bog’s court who’d coupled her title with her surname. It might have been technically correct but from the smirk on Aura’s face, she wasn’t taking it that way.

“Mortals with titles. You have such eccentric notions of their importance.” She gave an elegant little shrug that caused a series of ripples along her arms. “We could expect no more with your parentage.”

Marianne scowled. She might be repulsed by Aura on a cellular level but she wouldn’t stand back as her majesty took shots at Bog’s father.

“It’s not a notion,” she blurted.

The Queen managed to laugh without movement and that eerie disconnect chilled more than the sound. “Precious - ”

“I’m not finished,” Marianne interrupted. “My title is not a notion or a product of Bog’s family history. You might as well say your rudeness comes from ignorance when anyone could tell you’re aiming to wound.”

Aura lifted a brow. How she did that when her entire face was essentially liquid, Marianne never wanted to know.

“You are here for a blink in our lives and yet you demand our attention. Mortal arrogance continues to astonish.”

“And here you’ve only had an eternity to perfect yours.”

Marianne knew Aura had something terrible ready when the Queen smiled. “How tragic your mother died too early to curb your insolence.”

Bog snarled into the Queen’s face while Marianne went still on his arm. Had it been only a few minutes ago she’d felt sick at the thought of Griselda telling Aura all about her life? Strange how quickly that instinct was proved correct.

His Majesty swore in a language too guttural for English while the Seelie Queen stood before him with perfect calm like a pond in the dead of winter. Abruptly Marianne saw a flash of her mother’s dead eyes in Aura’s empty ones. Rage thawed her shock in a flash.

“Is it your majesty’s habit to put yourself in debt?”

Aura scoffed, easily the least elegant movement she’d made so far. “You have no understanding of debt, child.”

“I disagree.” She bared her teeth in a smile. “The debt is obvious. You _owe_ us an apology.”

Perhaps the Queen had a chilly rejoinder to the accusation. Marianne lacked the patience to hear it. Instead when Aura opened her mouth, she let go of Bog’s arm and marched forward to the very edge of her majesty’s rippling dress. With each step Marianne felt a thrum of energy sparking up beneath her boots. The corners of the ballroom darkened, light drawn into the amber jewels that adorned her dress.

A hot press of power sizzled at the small of her back and crawled up the delicate amber chains, driving her clinging handmaidens away to a safer distance. Marianne looked up into the Seelie Queen’s face as her hands curled into fists around an invisible current.

“My title is more than words, your majesty. It’s a warning.”

The bones of the house moaned as they flexed and then contracted, mirrors that had gone abruptly solid creaking a warning when the ballroom walls began to pull inward. Startled goblins scuttled away from the press of the architecture. Marianne held up a hand and the mansion halted its descent.

“You’re a guest in this place and you have chosen to insult your hosts. I have no intention of humoring a creature with no respect for me or mine,” she said. “Pay your debt or leave.”

Throughout the proceedings, Aura’s face had betrayed no flicker of emotion. Her unnatural stillness only cracked at Marianne’s ultimatum. The corner of her mouth creased briefly upward.

“You would banish me for slighting you?”

“Your majesty has miscounted. I made it clear you owe us both,” Marianne said, gesturing to where Bog stood behind her shoulder.

Aura’s face blossomed into a genuine smile, blank eyes glowing once with a wave of blue. “In that case, I regret the pain my words may have caused you and yours, Lady Fairfield.”

The sudden capitulation startled Marianne but no more than Aura reaching out to caress her cheek. Bog growled low in his throat at the gesture.

Aura ignored him. “You will do very well, I think.”

Liquid skin felt just as disturbing as it looked. It oozed across her cheekbone and she had to fix a very determined smile on her face. “If your majesty would like to include the rest of your court…?”

The Queen released her and straightened with another frozen laugh. “Of course! The sun has fallen. It is time at last for the shortest night.” She waved a careless arm to the mirrors, which had returned to their normal dimensions once Marianne unclenched her fists. They quivered once and then burst into shivering threads of silver while the denizens of the Seelie Court poured forth.

Marianne felt Bog retake her arm. Given the startling crowd around her, she appreciated the support. Unlike Bog and his subjects, there was a great likeness between the Queen and hers. None of them appeared to be so entirely made of liquid but all their skin had a trembling, soluble quality. At least where they _had_ skin.

Crystals and other precious gems erupted from the Seelie like broken bones through skin. They shone and sparkled and horrified. A slender wisp of a creature that got much too close to Marianne for her taste had caverns for eyes with opals loosely rotating within them.

With all these nightmares came a swarm of glittering specks hovering in attendance. Marianne had to squint to make out what they were. Half the size of a pawn, they glittered so brightly that at first she thought they might just be additional floating lights. But no, when they came close she realized they were highly polished crystal shards grown into the shape of tiny women. She saw one move its arm, resulting in a soft cloud of sparkling debris when its joints ground against each other.

Marianne recoiled.

Her handmaidens whistled softly near her hair. Marianne’s eyes darted to them with their claws, fangs, and flower petal bodies. She knew what Griselda had meant now. She also knew she’d take her pixies over those clusters of agony any day.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered to them.

“They will never be perfect,” Bog corrected.

She shot him a look. “According to what standard?”

Aura chuckled. For once, her amusement did not feel so cold. “My court sets the standard for beauty, Lady Fairfield. Bog’s has very little use for it so you’ll find if pressed for a judgment he will fall back on mine.”

As though summoned by the opportunity to once again scold her son, Griselda chose that moment to intrude. “Which is why he should trust his mother when she tells him he needs to pay a _certain someone_ a compliment.”

“Griselda!” Aura enthused, body shuddering with the force of her delight. She took the goblin woman’s hand and squeezed. Her own hand briefly lost its shape as a result. “I have so much to tell you, darling.”

“And only a very short night to do it,” Griselda added. She shot a brief grin at her son then beamed at Marianne. “You two have fun now.”

Bog looked ready to object but he didn’t get the opportunity. Aura managed to glide at an incredible speed with Griselda hanging off her hand. The most irritating part was how she made running off to gossip appear graceful.

Marianne shook her head. “Well, it’s nice that they’re friends.”

Bog grimaced. “Would that my mother had better taste in conquests.”

Lady Fairfield didn’t sound the type to choke on her own spit but Marianne found herself doing just that. She coughed, quickly raising a hand to her mouth to keep from spraying Bog.

“What?” she choked out between gasps.

Her pixies fussed over Marianne, the red one ripping a petal from her skirt to offer as a handkerchief. She waved them off while Bog smiled at their antics.

“They were courting before my mother… changed her mind.” He left unsaid the obvious fact that the change of mind must have come about when Griselda met Bog’s father. His eyes turned to the floor as though suddenly fascinated but she still caught the glimmer of sadness.

Marianne squeezed Bog’s forearm where her hand had found a natural resting place. He glanced at her and she smiled, nodding to where Griselda had begun to tap her feet to one of the many songs by The Civil Wars chosen for the evening.

“My mother loved music, too,” she said. A crack opened in her chest at the words but she breathed through it.

Bog, for all their many miscommunications, seemed to understand what Marianne wanted to give him. He turned to her and as he did, his wings and armor flared to shield her. They were suddenly as alone as they could be in a crowded room. “Did she?” he gently prompted.

She let her hand drift down his arm until she could lace their fingers together. The feel of his smooth fingertips made it all easier somehow.

“She said honesty was easier in song. And she was an actress so if anyone would know…” she trailed off on a weak laugh.

Bog nodded. “Then she was wise as well as beautiful.”

“You can’t know that,” Marianne argued.

His thumb rubbed sweetly along the back of her hand. “I need only see the love in your eyes when you speak of her to know how beautiful she was.”

She gaped at Bog, overcome by a surge of warmth and pain. Like a bone being set or a rotten tooth pulled.

“Oh,” Marianne whispered. “That’s… yes. I mean, she was beautiful. In all the ways that mattered. And open. She never lied and we always knew exactly how proud she was of all we did. We were so loved.”

Remembering her mother glowing with pride when Dawn memorized yet another script or when Marianne had gotten into stage fighting felt like unearthing an old photograph. A long ago moment in time when they’d been happy found covered in dust and blurry with age. How long ago had it been since they were loved _for_ all they were, not in spite of it?

“Then when it ends, the ground is never firm beneath your feet again,” Bog said. “I understand.”

Marianne searched his face and found no trace of a lie. “I thought you might.”

Her mother, his father. They were a hell of a pair.

Bog flexed the fingers wrapped too hard around his staff. In between heartbeats it vanished, freeing his hand to settle like a butterfly on her waist. The desperate blue of his eyes when they met hers stole her breath.

“Marianne, would you honor me with a dance on this the shortest night?”

She smiled. “Yes. I thought you’d never ask.”

“Never ask the way you desired me to,” he teased, drawing her into the frame for a waltz.

Marianne chuckled. “If you want a woman to say yes, it’s easiest to ask in a way she might say yes to.”

“I don’t need a yes from any woman,” Bog told her. “Just you.”

He spun her into the first chords of _Cosmic Love_ and Marianne wondered if he’d conspired with Florence Welch to get the timing just right. Fae and goblin couples paired around them as though they’d been waiting for their cue. The dissected chandelier pieces floated to line the room, dimming to the intensity of flickering candles. It helped reduce the constant glare of gemstone bodies and pixie crystal reflecting light.

It also made it easier to get lost in the way Bog looked at her. The expression he’d worn at her entrance to the ballroom had returned. This close Marianne could interpret it a little better. If he’d been any other man, she would have called it rapture. But the Bog King was not a man and regardless of human blood she had to remember his nature.

With what the Queen had said, Bog may not even see her as beautiful.

She wanted that thought to dowse any romantic notions she had about his majesty but it was unsurprisingly hard to do when waltzing in an enchanted ballroom. Marianne curled her fingers around one of the flared plates of armor at his shoulder. She’d thought before of how like a new tree’s bark his exoskeleton felt and her subconscious had eagerly worked that detail into her bathtub fantasy.

“You’re quiet,” Bog said.

Marianne felt her cheeks heating. “Counting my steps. I’m new at this.” It had the benefit of being true. Brutus had done a masterful job teaching but she’d still only practiced for a week.

Bog faltered. “Oh. That’s what you meant by ‘a little your way, a little mine’.”

She had said that about a millennia ago when she’d first asked him to dance. “That was for the library. And a dress like this requires a higher standard. Don’t worry about me, I’ll keep up.”

“I would expect no less after your display for Aura.” Bog smirked. “Speaking of which, do you still doubt your power here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, okay, you were right. I’ve got the magic in me or whatever.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say so.”

Although really she could argue the house was loaning her power but she didn’t feel like bickering. Marianne also didn’t know how well she’d waltz while arguing semantics. Probably not great. With her luck she’d trip and fall into Bog’s stupid blue eyes.

After successfully completing a spin under his arm, she returned to his embrace only to realize exactly how damned little the numerous amber chains did to distract her from the sensation of his palm on her naked back. She stumbled, predictably. Bog was an accomplished enough dancer to guide her through it but the mistake grated.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Bog slowed their pace, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Had enough of _your_ way?”

Marianne eyed him suspiciously. “I thought this was your way.”

“Waltzes are human,” he reminded her. “You won’t have to count your steps with mine.”

“In that case, sold. What do I do?”

He smiled wide and wrapped both his arms tight around her. “You hold on.”

With a flash of his dragonfly wings they launched into the air. They couldn’t be more than a few feet up but Marianne felt miles above the other couples, her arms locked around Bog’s neck. Good thing she was wearing pants.

A laugh burst out of her. “Oh my God, we’re flying. We’re really flying.”

You never saw that on _Dancing with the Stars_.

“I thought you might enjoy this more,” Bog said. His wings were a constant hum of motion, keeping them at a gentle hover.

“You got that right. But now you’re doing all the work.”

He shook his head. “You’ve done enough for my sake tonight.”

As sharp and angled as Bog’s face was, he looked soft when he smiled at her. It stopped any protest she might have made about not doing much at all.

“Just don’t let go,” she murmured, letting her head rest beneath the hollow of his throat.

His breath rustled her hair. “Never.”

Typical of the folk, Bog kept his word. They flew together through too many songs to count but even when they landed he kept an arm tucked firmly around her waist. Marianne checked on her posse of goblins with his majesty as a fixture at her side.

This wasn’t conducive to an easy flow of conversation since Brutus kept edging away, Thang tried to impress everyone with his dance moves, and Stuff would glance at Bog before saying anything. Eventually she got sick of it, nudged Bog with her shoulder and told him to stop glowering. He protested that a kingly demeanor was not a glower.

Sure it wasn’t.

Thankfully none of Aura’s court felt comfortable approaching her with the Bog King glaring at them. She heard a few muttered complaints about a ‘locked gate’ and immediately pinned the culprits with a glare of her own. Too elegant to scamper, the Fae very swiftly exited her line of sight.

She smiled at Griselda dancing with Aura to David Bowie while Bog grumbled under his breath. A few of the gopher creatures scuttled by with serving trays stuffed with bubbling goblets. They knew better than to offer her any and she waved back when one of them wobbled their tray to wave at her.

The speed of some of the couples dancing rendered them ethereal to her, floating past on gusts of fog and atomized pixie limbs. Marianne pressed closer to Bog. His fingertips toyed with the amber buttons at her hip as he looked down at her.

“Would it be rude if we went somewhere else?” she asked.

He cast an assessing eye over the crowd. In addition to the Seelie Court becoming increasingly creepy, the goblins had upped the rowdiness by several decibels. Food from the dining room kept migrating into the ballroom and she’d seen a roast the size of a wildebeest getting passed around a minute ago. Marianne didn’t love the thought of her handmaiden’s hard work getting stained by careless hands.

And maybe she wanted a little more time alone with Bog before he had another mood swing that kept him from talking to her for a week.

“If you’d like,” he began, slowly enough she knew he was about to propose something she might not like. “The stars in my kingdom are brighter than the ones in your sky. We would not have to go far.”

Marianne remembered Lizzie’s warning but she didn’t want to believe it. Not tonight, at any rate. Tonight she wanted to take Dawn’s advice about allowing herself to have fun.

“You’ll take me back when I ask?”

“Yes.”

No wordplay. It reassured her that he meant it.

She nodded and then wrapped her arms around his neck when his wings flared in preparation for flight. “Just remember that us mortals have a story about what happens when you let a girl run loose in a goblin kingdom. Didn’t work out for the king all that well.”

Bog touched a claw gently to one of her curls. “Then I’d best not let you loose.”

The rush of spinning through the air punched the breath from her. Once she got it back Marianne was laughing again, giddy at the growing distance between her and the ground. She almost didn’t see the moment when they passed through the mirrors on the ballroom ceiling.

A chill swept over her body as they slipped away from Bogach Mansion. Marianne clutched tighter to Bog as the world spun and they flew into an inverted ballroom. He paused, allowing her a moment to get her bearings. She looked at the dark mirrors beneath them that flashed the occasional glimpse of the Midsummer’s Eve Ball.

A ceiling under them and what should have been a floor above, except on this side instead of marble there was a network of luminescent spider web. She looked between the glittering strands to an indigo sky dotted with swirls of violet and gold.

Marianne gasped. “ _Those_ are your stars?”

“In a sense,” Bog said as they flew closer to the webs. “Our worlds are very different. Yours has rules and an internal logic that has no place in mine.”

“I don’t think I buy that your world doesn’t have internal logic.” Marianne couldn’t believe she had the presence of mind to argue while staring at an alien sky.

“No, you’re right. But it’s difficult to put to words.”

They paused just under the nearly translucent threads that shimmered with reflected starlight. Perhaps they weren’t spider web but Marianne could think of no other substance they could be. She peered through them, studying the flare of Bog’s stars. They danced with each other. A slow rotation of colors, looping gracefully between their neighbors or sometimes lingering in a muddle as though reluctant to part. Marianne’s stars definitely didn’t do that.

“Do you know they’re beautiful?” she asked.

“I assume they are,” Bog said. “They seem pleasing.”

Marianne shook her head. “That’s one of the rules of your world I don’t understand. Why would one court have more ability to identify beauty than the other?”

Bog quirked a brow. “Does your world not have experts and novices?”

“Huh. Touché.” Marianne guessed it wasn’t that different from institutions like the fashion industry or Hollywood informing the masses of what passed for beauty. “It’s just… sad to me. That you can’t look at something and find it beautiful without some external input.”

Bog looked at her. “Is that the most important thing?”

“No! God, no. I thought Roland was beautiful and that was a catastrophe.” She grimaced. “It’s not the most important thing. But it’s a nice thing. Except when it isn’t?”

Marianne blew out a sigh. She was clearly on a roll with this whole talking thing. “Let me try that again. You can see something, think ‘oh beautiful!’, and then get closer only to find out your were wrong. But sometimes you weren’t wrong at all. You were more right than you knew.”

Bog stared for a long moment before shaking his head. “It’s a very human notion. For myself, I found you fascinating long before I found you beautiful.”

It was Marianne’s turn to stare. She hadn’t been sure about Bog’s interest one way or the other. But now she thought maybe, just maybe, they’d been on the same page all along.

She unlocked her arms from around Bog’s neck, lifting a hand to his cheek. The only movement from him was the rapid beat of his wings. His eyes froze on her face as she touched him. Marianne traced the hollows under those human eyes, gently grazed the edge of his cheekbones and finally let her fingers curl around his chin where the gentle prick of newborn rose thorns nudged at her skin.

Their skin looked so different pressed together, his soft gray and hers with its rosy glow. There were lines in her skin that didn’t exist on him. She stared at his wide mouth, a slightly different shade of gray than his face.

She wanted to know what he would feel like, what he would taste like, when all she’d known had been human and same.

Marianne met his gaze and asked, “Would you please kiss me?”

They fell a good three feet before Bog’s wings started beating again.

“I apologize,” he said, looking everywhere but at her. She didn’t exactly blame him but she thought the mood had only been bruised, not killed.

“It’s fine, Bog. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“I’ll take you home.”

Marianne flinched. Well, never mind then. Looked like the mood had coded and the doctor was calling it.

She decided to get a last look at the stars as Bog flew them through the nearest mirror. They winked merrily at her, oblivious to the turmoil. Marianne closed her eyes as she was carried back to the mortal realm and the painfully inappropriate romantic music assaulted her ears.

Bog didn’t set her back down in the ballroom, which was a small mercy. She didn’t know how she’d put on a happy face after being soundly rejected. No, he flew her through the ballroom doors and straight up the stairs. Her feet touched the ground once more directly outside her bedroom. She let go of his majesty and turned away.

She tried to muster up some civil dismissal. Something about appreciating the lovely evening or whatever.

Instead, Bog reached for her arm and turned her toward him. “Did you mean it?”

Marianne glared. “Seriously? Was there something vague or mysterious about my _explicitly_ asking you to kiss me?”

His eyes darted away again and that was really starting to piss her off.

“Mortals are changeable,” he muttered. “It’s difficult to tell what you really want.”

“Then how about I clear it up for you?” Marianne grabbed the armor that flared away from his neck and pulled him down until their mouths smashed together. For the first few seconds, it was probably the worst not-kiss in recorded history. The angle was terrible, there wasn’t any room to soften the pinch of their lips and Marianne felt they were grinding their teeth together through their mouths more than kissing.

Then Bog’s posture softened. Marianne’s grip gentled.

His arms embraced her, hands slipping under the amber to caress her naked skin. She parted her lips on a gasp and allowed his tongue to flick against hers. It felt different than a human’s, longer and more triangular. And it really, really worked for her.

Marianne kissed him hard, although not to the ruinous degree she had been. She thrust where he licked, nipped where he soothed. Bog tasted like clear water, a natural well that had no right to be as cool and refreshing as it was.

And then there was a change. The feel of him shifted under her fingers and between kisses she found herself kissing a mortal man.

She jerked back and stared, horrified, at Bog’s glamour. A stream of films and stories where a kiss ruined a perfectly wonderful monster ran through her head.

“Oh shit. Please tell me this isn’t permanent,” Marianne begged as she brought both hands to her stomach. She was feeling sick again and this time she was pretty convinced she’d vomit.

Bog looked down at himself, puzzled. “No? But you were wanting to…” He gestured to his mouth, a blush staining his cheeks. She wished she could have seen it on his real face.

“To kiss you,” she finished for him. “And we were kissing. So why’d you change?”

“I would have earlier but you surprised me.”

“But why change at all?” she demanded. “Why would I want _this_ when there’s you?”

He gaped at her, the glamour abruptly leaking away to reveal his true form. She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. That really scared me.”

Bog sputtered at her. “Scared you? Marianne, do you not - How could you - ” He pointed at his body and then waved his hands in a distressed manner. “Humans are softer than this. You’re soft and your skin gives. I’m built rough. Hard.”

Marianne waggled her eyebrows. “Promise?”

That appeared to bring his thoughts to a grinding halt. Taking pity on him, she took his hands in hers. “Bog, I want to make this as clear as I possibly can. I want to spend the rest of Midsummer’s Eve with you. You are invited to my room for the shortest night and beyond that if you’d like to stay.”

He continued to stare. She pressed a soft kiss to his fingers.

“And when I say you, I mean the real you. I don’t want to play pretend.”

“You would lie with me,” Bog said, nonplussed. “As I am.”

Marianne let go of his hands and pushed open her door. “Only one way to find out.”

She thought she might have to coax him inside, maybe kiss him a few more times or pop a few buttons. Would popping buttons work on a goblin king? She’d have to find out another time because Bog had her back in his arms before she could try it.

The fire in her room had gone out long ago but the sky outside had cleared. Moonlight and the glow of mortal stars flooded through the windows. Bog set her down before her bed, hands lingering on the buttons of her skirts.

“May I?”

She smiled to cover her nerves. “I think you’ll have to. Getting into this thing was tricky enough. I don’t know about getting out.”

Bog nodded. “Would you prefer slowly or all at once?”

Marianne pictured the slow agony of being exposed piece by piece and shuddered. She’d had to do that with Roland. He liked watching, liked the tease. She’d thought she liked it too until this moment when she had the choice.

“All at once. Please.”

His clawed hands went to the three delicate buttons beneath the valley of her breasts. He didn’t give off heat but the presence of him, skin so close to hers through the dress, made her body feel like a furnace. One by one the buttons came undone. Suddenly she understood his strategy because once those buttons were loose, all he needed to do was bare her shoulders and the amber weight that had kept her modest pulled the dress off of her in one billowing rush. Even the pants that had felt so fitted slipped away without a fight.

Marianne closed her eyes and concentrated on stepping out of her shoes before she thought about being naked, save a black thong her handmaidens had found scandalous. Once she was free, she squinted hesitantly at Bog.

“I did not know humans could be forged from moonlight,” he murmured, softly enough that Marianne almost missed it.

Those little worries that always nagged at her, breasts too small or hips too narrow, vanished. She smiled.

“I think you should kiss me again,” Marianne said. “And then you should tell me how you want to do this.”

Bog reached for her, those gorgeous hands sweeping up her hips to her waist. “The flaw in my staying as I am is that neither of us will know precisely what we’re doing.”

“The very best sex I ever had was when my partner and I didn’t know what we were doing and instead of charging forward, we asked.” Since he didn’t seem to be getting the message, Marianne stood on her toes and kissed him. When she pulled back he followed after her. It made her grin. “Tell me what works. Tell me how far, how hard, whatever. I just want to feel you.”

The sound he made at that closely resembled a whimper. “I don’t want to go too far only to…”

She put a hand over his mouth. “Then we won’t. Don’t go any farther than you want.”

He kissed her palm. “I’ll bruise you.”

“I’ll survive,” she whispered. Marianne nudged Bog until he took the hint and fell back on her white sheets. His wings spread out around him to avoid the crush. She’d worried a bit that they’d be too delicate for him to rest on his back but they appeared more durable than she’d assumed.

She decided to leave the thong until she knew exactly how his exoskeleton would feel on her skin. Then she crawled over him and leaned down for another kiss. Bog rested his hands at the swell of her hips, the drag of his nails pricking her skin just the right way. The urge to twist and bite had already started but she tried to keep it together.

Marianne had a bad habit of losing it during sex. She’d broken her girlfriend’s nose once during a delicate moment and even if she’d said it was a badge of honor, Marianne had been mortified. For whatever reason, the danger hadn’t been there with Roland. She’d only clawed his back once.

Her knees tightened against Bog’s hips and she let her hands fist on the thick armor at his shoulders. When they’d fought she’d automatically catalogued the places she could do the least damage. It amused her to have another use for that knowledge now.

She had to break their kiss for air, a need Bog apparently didn’t have. “Can I leave marks?”

He chuckled. “You didn’t ask the first time.”

Marianne shook her head and pressed a smiling kiss to his throat. The scar her hand had left had faded at last. Still she remembered the shape of it and she sucked where her palm had left its impression. He shuddered, a low growl vibrating in his chest.

With his ability to heal, she doubted she could bruise him but she enjoyed trying. Marianne set her teeth a touch harder into his skin and the growl turned into a snarl. Bog’s hands clamped down. The force was enough to pull her flat against his chest.

One scrape of her nipples on the smooth tree bark texture of his armor and she spasmed. The sensation stabbed through her nervous system. Her next coherent thought was that she really needed to get her underwear off.

The Bog King took the few moments her body went boneless to flip their positions. He crouched over her, staring as her eyes fluttered.

“I need to see your face,” he explained, voice rough as broken glass.

Then he proceeded to spend a small eternity putting his hands on every square inch of her body. Marianne’s leg kicked out when he cupped her breasts and very nearly broke a fingernail clutching at him when he pressed a knuckle to the scrap of fabric between her thighs. He took his time there, far too much time in her opinion. She ground against his hand to fight for the pressure she needed.

He set his mouth to her breast and she shouted. It might have been a curse. At that point she had no way of knowing. She could be babbling the stage directions for __Kiss Me Kate__ and she wouldn’t realize it when Bog brushed those jagged teeth across the bud of her nipple.

Marianne rocked against him, chasing that orgasm he was keeping just out of her reach. Her body was strung so tight she thought she’d snap and as she gripped him harder she could have sworn his armor gave a worried little creak.

“Sweetheart,” Marianne hissed. “If you don’t get to work, one of us is going to die here and it won’t be me.”

He pulled his head from her breast and grinned at her. “ _There’s_ my Marianne.”

The hand pressed so delicately against her core bore down. The friction was enough to have her arching into the long awaited pleasure but along with it came a wave of heat that set off another peak and then another. She wailed, twisting under his body. He held her still and laid a kiss on her trembling lips. Marianne whimpered into his mouth, cresting into pained bliss for a fourth time. Her heart pounded so hard she felt it in her toes.

“Can’t,” she gasped. “Can’t. Bog, please.”

At last the pressure gentled. He soothed her, dropping soft kisses on her shoulder. “Shh, love. I have you.”

Marianne raised a shaky hand to stroke the ridges of his skull. “Did you… Do you need…?”

Bog shook his head. “All I need is you.”

He returned to kissing her. Soft, sweet kisses that warmed her heart as her body eased into the glow of satisfaction. Marianne tangled their fingers together. The smile at the corners of her mouth was likely too fond but she didn’t bother to stop it.

“Do you sleep?” she murmured.

“From time to time.”

Marianne tugged at him until he lay down beside her. She had to pull the sheets out from under them but once she managed that herculean task she curled at Bog’s side, eyes fluttering closed. “Stay with me.”

He brushed his fingers through her mussed hair. They were long enough that he could graze the nape of her neck as he stroked. She fell asleep to that feeling and the muted thump of his heart.

In the morning, Marianne woke up alone.


	13. Go Out and Get Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the crazy delay, guys. In case anyone's interested in what's been distracting me, here's a link to [my first book](https://www.amazon.com/Animal-Instinct-Kate-Davidson-ebook/dp/B07684KPHN/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1508551504&sr=1-1&keywords=animal+instinct+kate)

Marianne imagined how her life might have gone if she’d been braver. Waking up alone with no note or token or even a hint that she’d fallen asleep with a partner, her first impulse had been to storm down to the ballroom to demand an explanation. She pictured tossing a chair through the glass, grabbing Bog by his ear, and dragging him back to bed. But then she tried to think of what she’d say…

There was nothing. She couldn’t claim that she was the type of woman you didn’t treat that way when she’d been treated so much worse. She couldn’t accuse him of lying. He’d never promised to stay. He’d never said their night together meant anything at all.

So once she had him by the ear, what would she do? By what right could she demand anything from him?

The weather in Scotland continued to be unpredictable. Last night there had been clear skies and beautiful moonlight. Today, when Marianne had chosen to run instead of fight, the heavens had opened and poured buckets of rain directly on her head. She looped the mansion grounds for a third time, running shoes squelching in the mud. Her clothes were plastered to her and she kept having to push her drenched hair out of her eyes.

When she’d hurriedly pulled her running gear on, she hadn’t bothered to pick up her phone for her typical exercise soundtrack. Now all she had to occupy her thoughts were the sounds of her labored breathing and the rain pounding down around her. The exercise had her body running hot enough that the cool water almost felt nice. It was at least a decent distraction. Bitching about and admiring the rain in equal turns, Marianne kept her eyes straight ahead.

More than once she’d noticed little details in her peripheral vision. The maze in the garden shifted from time to time. A few patches of shattered crystals and glitter were slowly being swallowed by the mud. Every now and then a gap in the stone wall surrounding the garden revealed a pair of cat eyes. Marianne ignored it all. She didn’t have the energy to investigate and it was more than likely she wouldn’t find anything if she looked.

Sleeping with Bog had been a mistake. True or false?

She kept getting hung up on that question as she ran, even as she tried to push it out of her mind. Flashes of the night zipped through her thoughts. The feel of his hands on her skin or the way he’d looked at her as someone might a precious treasure. She remembered how his eyes had burned with wanting her.

But had he?

Marianne came to the end of the garden and this time decided to stop, hand pressed to the low wall. The mansion loomed behind her but she didn’t feel watched. Something about the sheets of rain surrounding her gave Marianne the sensation of being cloaked from scrutiny. She pushed her hair back once again, the Seelie products having long ago been washed out by the rain, and stared out at the wide expanse of hills that seemed to go on forever beyond the mansion’s walls. The black, twisting clouds touched the earth at the horizon and, as Marianne blinked rain out of her eyes, she fancied the earth was made of storms, too. Purple, green, and breathless, twisting plant life shuddered under the deluge. She felt the urge to vault the wall and walk into the Scottish highlands, to see the rest of what it had to offer.

She didn’t know if she’d ever come back.

Instead she turned and leaned against the wall, staring back at the mansion. It hadn’t felt like hers that morning. She’d needed to escape its walls in a way she hadn’t felt since Bog had tried to kidnap her. It stung a little to remember he hadn’t really wanted her then, either. Taking her was meant as a punishment for her father.

Marianne shook her head. This was getting so ridiculously self-indulgent. What exactly had she expected when she invited an ageless king to her bed? Pillow talk? Coffee and pancakes?

The sex had been great. For her, anyway. Marianne tried to halt that train of thought before it could get started. Wondering about how Bog felt about her performance would just drive her crazy and it wasn’t fair. She’d asked after his needs. If he’d failed to tell her something, that was on him.

So she’d had a casual one-night stand with the Bog King. She could handle that. He clearly didn’t want her getting any romantic notions into her head about the whole affair and she’d respect his boundaries. There had been no declarations, no discussions of any kind except negotiating the actual sex. An adult would accept it for what it was. Marianne could be an adult, right? She had that in her toolbox.

A strange breeze drifted by her through the rain, carrying the scent of the ocean. It took her a moment to connect the dots and by the time she had, Thang and Stuff had appeared beside her.

Thang bowed deeply. “Lady Marianne!”

“Hey, guys,” Marianne said. She looked over to Stuff, noticing how her make-up had melted a little and the rain was taking care of the rest.

The goblin studied her in return, concern obvious. “Are you all right?”

She smiled faintly. “I’m fine. Enjoying the weather. What about you? How’d you guys enjoy the party?”

“It was stupendous,” Thang declared, while Stuff talked over him.

“It was good.” She glanced over her shoulder at the mansion and then back to Marianne. “And you, uh, you had a nice time?”

“Well…” Marianne trailed off. How did she feel about the party? She’d enjoyed it at the time. In the light, or rain, of day it all seemed so much more complicated. “Yeah, I guess. Probably.”

Stuff and Thang exchanged looks. She didn’t need to read minds to tell they weren’t convinced. Honestly, she felt so ambivalent about everything that had gone down over the past twenty-four hours. She wanted to take it all as a great life experience and move on. If only her stupid feelings would get in line.

“Would you guys tell me something?”

“Of course, Lady Marianne. Anything you need,” Thang said. Stuff just looked at her worriedly.

“When you used to have parties here, did his majesty ever… I mean, did Bog – Well, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume he might have…” Marianne let out a defeated sigh. “Did he slip out of those parties early with other women?”

Thang and Stuff looked as though they’d been struck by lightning. The sheer panic in their expressions told her everything she hadn’t wanted to know. Although really, if she hadn’t wanted to know she shouldn’t have asked. This was all so childish. What had she been expecting? That Bog had been waiting for her for hundreds of years? Shit, even she hadn’t been waiting for him. Not that things were that serious. She just liked him. Going any further than that would be emotional suicide.

“You know what? Never mind. It’s not a big deal.”

Stuff nodded quickly, relieved. “As you say, Lady Marianne.”

“And none of them were as pretty as you,” Thang added.

Considering Thang had assumed she was a boy when they first met, Marianne found that less reassuring than he probably hoped.

Stuff must have been of a similar mind because she stepped on his foot. “Stop helping,” she hissed at him.

Thang limped out of her reach. “What? I don’t remember any of them being prettier.”

That tugged at Marianne’s own memory. Lizzie had told her to ask a question but she’d been too busy with Midsummer’s Eve to give it much thought. On this side of the shortest night and after a morning waking up to nothing but cold sheets, she realized she needed to know the answer.

“Thang, that girl you were talking about a couple days ago. The one who was growing scales and you said ran off.” Marianne cleared her throat, suddenly nervous. “Do you remember her name?”

Thang looked puzzled for a moment, still nursing his bruised foot. “Her name?”

“The girl you said broke her family’s heart. Maybe you remember them using it? Her name?”

A long silence fell over them, broken only by the rain. Thang stared down at the mud as his eyes scrunched with thought. Finally, he turned to Stuff. “Did she have a name? I don’t remember hearing it.”

Stuff shrugged. “She might have once but it’s long gone now.” She looked up at Marianne. “Time’s funny around here, my lady, and memory doesn’t work so well without it. Little things fade out. Doubt even her parents remember much of her now.”

“But Thang said they were still grieving,” Marianne said, feeling slightly ill.

“Just cause they don’t remember much doesn’t mean they don’t remember some,” Stuff explained. “Feelings always stick better than details anyway.”

“Right.”

Okay, this didn’t have to be earth shattering. She knew the folk were different. Just because in a few decades Bog would probably struggle to remember her name didn’t mean she needed to be hurt by that. It probably made sense for such long-lived creatures to have minds that worked a touch differently. Who’d want to remember centuries of life in perfect detail? That was way too much to have going on in your head.

Lizzie had been trying to explain this to her. The folk weren’t capable of caring the way mortals could. Honestly she was probably being unreasonable expecting Bog to invest his emotions in someone who’d be dead by the time he had his next molt.

Did Griselda remember her husband’s name?

“You know what, guys? I really need a shower. It’s freezing out here and I’m - ” She gestured abruptly to the mud splattered across her bare legs. “So I’ve got to go. See you later, okay?” She didn’t wait for them to say their goodbyes, just barreled forward at a quick jog.

Marianne could feel the sore clutch of her heart as she absorbed the obvious reality she should have seen coming. There had been women before her. They had been forgotten.

There would be women after her. She would be forgotten.

That was what she’d signed up for last night, even if she hadn’t given it any real thought. So was sleeping with Bog a mistake? Maybe. She’d enjoyed it. She didn’t think she’d undo it. With Roland there was no question she’d scrub clean her past with him. But Bog had done nothing to hurt her. On the contrary, he’d taken care with her and been so very kind. She was hurting herself by wanting more when she should just be doing what Dawn said. Having fun.

So that’s what she’d do. She’d be at least half the adult Dawn already was and enjoy her summer vacation in Scotland. Whether or not that included more ‘encounters’ with Bog, well, she wouldn’t make any more of them than what they were. Enjoyable sex between consenting adults.

Marianne couldn’t say what it was that caught her attention as she ran up to the mansion. She didn’t think it was movement or sound. Maybe just that feeling of being seen by unfamiliar eyes. Either way, she looked up to the window at the top of one of the towers. For a moment through the crushing rain she thought she saw a woman standing against the glass, hands outstretched. There had been red hair and a desperate expression. Between blinks the woman had vanished and Marianne was staring up at nothing.

Maybe her summer vacation would include a touch of ghost hunting as well.

After Marianne had taken a hot bath she heard the entrance of her very few human friends. She hurried down the stairs to find Dawn and Sunny in the dining room unpacking boxes of leftovers from the Midsummer’s Eve bonfire. The stew looked better than anything Marianne had seen in her life, which was probably a side effect of running on an empty stomach. Dawn had hugged Marianne like they’d been parted for months, not hours, and the three of them settled in to discuss their night.

“We had a lot of fun,” Sunny told her around a mouthful of potatoes. “Roland got trashed and passed out in the pub. With any luck his hangover will keep him away.”

Dawn passed Sunny a napkin, eyes on Marianne. “You would have liked the music. There’s something about folk songs sung live. They lose a lot in recording.”

“Not going to tell her about the ghost stories?” Sunny teased.

Dawn’s eyes flicked to the table, abruptly fascinated with her bacon sandwich. “It’s not important. Just non-specific legends you find anywhere with a little history.”

“Oh, come on, they were kind of cool,” Sunny said. He turned to Marianne. “Apparently the guy who built this place met a terrible end.”

Marianne’s stomach clenched. She might be jumping to conclusions but she couldn’t help but think that ‘guy’ might be Bog’s father. Telling stories about what happened to him while right above the court he used to rule might not be such a hot idea.

“It’s pretty standard,” Dawn said, shooting Sunny a look. “Tragedy and woe, etc. I’d rather hear about your night, Marianne.”

Marianne gulped down some stew to buy time. What the hell was she supposed to say? Beautiful setting, terrifying fairies, might have had ill-advised sex? She swallowed before meeting Dawn’s eyes. “Er, kind of mixed.”

Dawn frowned. “Mixed like a chocolate and vanilla swirl or mixed like ‘someone put nuts in this ice cream and I’m allergic’.”

Marianne mulled that one over before saying, “How severe is the allergy?”

“Hives.”

“Mm, let’s downgrade it to swelling.”

Dawn’s frown lessened slightly but was in no hurry to go away. “Was it the company?”

“Not the important company.”

“You guys going to keep talking in code right in front of me?” Sunny asked, gesturing between them with his fork.

“Marianne has a maybe boyfriend and last night was their first date,” Dawn explained.

Marianne choked on her stew. After managing to cough it out of her lungs, she pointed accusingly at Dawn. “Slow your roll, young lady! That is not at all how I’d define last night.”

“No one says slow your roll anymore,” Dawn said, ignoring her sister’s pointing. “How would you define last night, then?”

“Two acquaintances spending time together in a crowd.” And alone. “And alone.” Oh _shit_ , that was supposed to stay internal.

Dawn all but pounced on the slip. “Alone? How alone? For how long? Was it… _protected_ alone time?”

Sunny covered his ears and grimaced. “Too much information.”

She flapped a hand at him. “There’s barely been any information, now hush.”

Marianned pinched the bridge of her nose and stared down at her suddenly unappetizing leftovers. “I’ve done this to myself. I opened my big mouth and now I’m paying for it. Truly, the weight of my sins is crushing.”

“You’re all being so melodramatic,” Dawn complained. “But fine. If we’re not talking about sex - ”

Marianne let out a terrible moan at the same time Sunny wailed, “Stop, she’s like my sister!”

Dawn and Marianne both turned to look at him, startled. “She is?” Dawn asked.

Marianne found herself smiling a little. “Aw, Sunny. That’s kind of sweet.”

Sunny blushed at the attention. “It’s not a big deal. We’ve just known each other such a long time, you know?”

“You’ve never said that I’m like your sister,” Dawn pointed out, looking a little hurt.

Sunny’s blush spread until his entire face would serve as an adequate stop sign. “Oh wow, I think I hear Roland. I’d better go keep him from drowning.”

“Sunny - ?”

In a flash Sunny was gone, practically leaving tread marks on the floor. Marianne shook her head at Dawn. “One of these days you two are going to have to sit down and talk about _things_.”

Dawn’s nose crinkled in confusion. “What things?”

“You’re way smarter than me, kid. I’m sure you’ll put it together eventually.”

If Marianne had hoped Sunny’s distraction would keep Dawn from prying any more into her night with Bog, she had hoped in vain. Shortly after they cleaned up breakfast and got to work on ridding the derelict kitchen of spider webs, Dawn began asking questions. Unfortunately they were almost worse than sex questions since they tended to be ones Marianne couldn’t find a good half-honest way to answer.

“Where does he live?”

“Not far.”

“How not far?”

Marianne struggled for answers while the questions just kept rolling, her pulse alternately stopping and racing.

“That’s beautiful nail polish. Does someone in his family mix their own colors?”

“Something like that.”

“How long has his family lived here?”

“Oh, forever.”

“Does he have a bad relationship with the village, too?”

At last Marianne had to throw up her hands. “Dawn, what is with all the questions? Did something happen last night?”

Dawn chewed her bottom lip, smoothing out her forest green skirt and leaving behind dusty handprints. “There were certain details about the stories last night that got me thinking.”

Marianne could feel the color leaving her face. Oh God, what if the village had started dropping hints? Could they even do that?

“They talked about how the man who built this place sold his soul but I wonder if he didn’t make a deal with someone he shouldn’t have. Someone with a bad reputation that local legend turned into a monster. Maybe this person’s family stuck around after the tragedy happened. Maybe they’re _still_ here.”

“Oh.” Marianne didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t a bad theory. If not for the fairies under the hill element, she’d think it was a plausible explanation for the weirdness surrounding her relationship with Bog, too. “Um, out of curiosity, did they happen to say what the tragedy was?”

“A girl went through one of the tower windows,” Dawn said. “Apparently after that everything fell apart.”

The red-headed woman she’d seen twice now flashed through her mind. Marianne felt totally confused now. She’d been expecting something about Bog’s father and for all she knew that woman was somehow connected but she didn’t have the foggiest notion of how. Was it her fault he’d died so she’d been punished?

“That’s sad,” Marianne said once she realized Dawn was waiting for a response.

Dawn gave her a weird look. “You’re kind of off today. Was the ‘alone’ time not good?”

“It’s not that.” She considered the many, many untruths she’d fed her sister recently and decided to put a little weight onto the truth side of the scale. “Things changed last night and now I’m not sure where we stand.”

“Have you asked?”

Marianne went back to sweeping cobwebs. “I don’t think I’m going to like the answer.”

“That’s always a possibility.” Dawn reached out and gently touched her shoulder. “But do you know what you want the answer to be?”

She spent the rest of the day considering that question. Did she know what she wanted? Marianne thought she might. She wanted Bog to look at her and say that they meant something. She wanted him to tell her that the little intimacies, the truths, were what had made the sex so good in the first place. Their ability to communicate was legendarily bad but when it worked, they were spectacular.

But what did that mean in the long run? Why was she putting all this pressure on a relationship with a clearly printed expiration date?

Marianne thought she could guess. She was still angry about what happened with Roland and, further back than that, what had happened with her father. She was sensitive about her feelings being dismissed so she was projecting motivations on Bog that simply didn’t exist. If she was so outraged when Bog didn’t respect her boundaries then she owed it to him to respect his in turn.

After a whole day to process and think it over, she felt pretty calm in the library that night. She’d curled up in shorts, long fuzzy socks, and a tattered old sweater with holes in the cuffs to stick her thumbs. Numerous bath bomb possibilities populated her laptop screen as she considered what to order for the goblins. Obviously Stuff should have the one that exploded into gold glitter. She was smiling as she pictured it when she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

“Good evening, Marianne.”

She looked over her shoulder at the Bog King. He was minus his staff tonight and observing her as though she were a volatile chemical concoction. That stung. Clearly he’d foreseen just how clingy her thoughts would trend after last night and prepared for a scene. Thank God she’d gotten her shit together before she’d seen him or she might have met his expectations. Instead she managed a neutral smile.

“Good evening, your majesty.”

His longs fingernails clacked together as he fidgeted. “May I…?” He cleared his throat again. “May I join you?”

She shrugged, moving her legs off the loveseat to make room. “It’s your kingdom.”

“I wonder, sometimes,” he murmured just softly enough she nearly missed it. After a long pause where Marianne busied herself with reading the product description for a Sex Bomb, he eventually sat next to her. His wings arched over the back of the loveseat so he could sit back without squashing them. “My mother wished me to tell you how much she enjoyed the party last night.”

“Please tell her that since she did all the work, she deserves the credit,” Marianne said, hitting the backspace before Bog could see what she’d been reading.

“And did you enjoy the party?”

She glanced at him. “Seems like everyone’s asking me that today.” He didn’t react and so Marianne felt marginally sure he hadn’t been eavesdropping. “I did enjoy it. Not every day a girl gets to attend a fairytale ball.”

“I suppose not.”

Another silence fell, this one somehow more awkward than the last. Marianne dedicated herself to finding the very best goddamn bath bombs. With any luck there’d be a few that made it easier to talk to a one-night stand.

Eventually Bog leaned over and peered at the screen. “Are these toys?”

“Well, they are fun. I was going to order a few for the goblins to play with. See if they might enjoy them.” She scrolled down then stopped when she felt the soft glide of his knuckles against her thigh.

“Do you enjoy these things?” he asked her. Bog obviously had no intention to address the fact that the backs of his fingers were stroking up and down her skin.

“I do, actually. And they’re good for your skin, which is a nice bonus.” All the same, she decided to shut down the computer and set it beneath the loveseat. Once she straightened back up she found a hand waiting to curl along the small of her back and around her hip. She looked up at the Bog King’s face, much closer than she’d anticipated. “I’m getting the sense you want to talk to me about something other than bath bombs.”

“Yes. Although if these bath products are actually explosive we might need to have a discussion about them.” The Bog King cleared his throat again and at this point Marianne was an inch from offering the man a lozenge. “Some time ago you mentioned that mortal food had changed over the years.”

She winced. “Right. I’ve been meaning to get some of that up here. It’s just there was a lot going on there with Midsummer’s Eve.”

“I dare say mortal food will continue to be available for some time. There is no immediate danger of it running out, is there?”

“That’s a complicated topic for another time,” Marianne said with a wry smile. “So you want me to get some food up here for you guys to check out?”

“In a sense.” His eyes passed over her face and whatever he saw must have been encouraging because he managed to continue without clearing his throat. “I thought perhaps the two of us might have a private meal together. You could show me what food and drink a mortal celebration would provide.”

It sounded an awful lot like a date.

“I can do that,” she said. When his arm tightened around her, she let him pull her close to his side. She questioned the wisdom of leaning up to kiss him but it didn’t keep her from doing it. He tasted just as fresh and clear as he had last night, quenching a thirst she hadn’t known she had.

His lips skimmed sweetly over hers before passing over her cheekbone and along the ridge of her ear. “Say you’ll have me again,” he murmured into her hair.

She’d already been dragged up into his lap and she realized his hands were beneath her sweater. Marianne couldn’t find the will to do much more than nod. “I’ll have you again.”

At her words the world around her spun as the Bog King bore her down to the carpet in front of the fireplace. Except the carpet was gone, replaced with thick blankets of moss. The fire still crackled but it was an open flame roaring behind them. She could vaguely recognize the trees surrounding them, morphed into living bookshelves with tomes Dawn would cry with joy to behold.

“How?” she breathed, confused at the sudden change in scenery.

Bog pushed up her sweater to press kisses to her abdomen then eased his hand down into her shorts, long fingers searching for her core. “You never asked me to take you back.”

And she hadn’t, had she? He had taken her back through the mirror before she’d asked. Apparently that meant he could sweep her back into his world as he pleased. She should probably fix that for safety’s sake.

Then he found her center and she couldn’t be bothered to think of anything for an embarrassing span of minutes. Marianne’s back arched, fingers scrambling to clutch at the armor on his back. She ended up getting her hand around the base of one of his wings and the long, delicious shudder that ran through him definitely got her attention. She gently stroked where the joint met armor, dragging her nail over the ridges. He shuddered again and moaned into her skin.

Bog pulled back, taking her shorts and underwear with him. She watched him toss them a little too close to the fire for her liking but then he hitched one of her legs over his shoulder before pressing his tongue between her thighs. Marianne writhed at the contact, hips bucking with dangerous force. Bog just pressed his arm across her stomach and held her down with embarrassingly little effort.

Her back arched at the pressure as he tasted her. She could watch the flames behind her, their crackling and waves seeming to line up with how deep Bog’s tongue dipped and then receded to brush sweetly over her flesh. Marianne gritted her teeth, whining at the teasing pace. She’d been grabbing at his head, helpless to stop herself, but it hadn’t changed his pace. At one particularly well-place sucking kiss, the leg he’d thrown over his shoulder spasmed and she dragged her heel up along his spine.

Bog’s hands bit sharply into her skin. She’d almost worried she’d hurt him but the moan he let out vibrated against her core. Marianne bent her leg as best she could and ran her whole foot down his spine, sock and all. The sound he let out was a cross between a whimper and a growl. It sent electricity tickling across her skin.

The Bog King raised his head to look at her, lips wet and swollen from their task. His eyes crackled with reflected fire, suddenly as far from human as she’d ever seen them. “Have a care, my wee mortal,” he growled out, sparks of magic licking from his fingers along her body. “Or I’ll never let you free again.”

When he pressed his mouth against her once more it only took seconds to tip her over the edge. She trembled, panting and desperate as he patiently worked her through a second orgasm. Marianne ground her heel against his spine again. Instantly she felt a wave of energy move over her before solidifying into countless invisible hands. They wrapped around her wrists and pinned them over her head. She could feel them cupping her breasts, heedless of the sweater still covering them. They dipped inside her along with Bog’s tongue, sending her howling into another climax.

She lost her grip not just on time but reality. Sight and sound and sensation all seemed to blur. At some point she realized she was being kissed, tried to summon the energy to kiss back.

“Hush,” a warm, lovely voice whispered in her thoughts. “My sweetest, dearest Marianne. Hush and let me please you.”

Marianne was in no state to argue. She closed her eyes – or maybe they’d been closed already – and let herself feel the slow-cresting waves of pleasure. It felt like being washed out of her body by a warm ocean.

“Bog,” she murmured.

He kissed her neck and she shivered. “What do you need, my lady?”

“Stay with me?” she asked.

Those beautiful fingers stroked through her hair. Marianne could swear she hadn’t been inches from sleep before but she certainly felt as though she could drift off at any moment now. He lifted her up, murmuring gently against her temple, “Come to bed.”

At least this time when she woke up in the morning, she expected to be alone.


End file.
